Eight Simple Rules To Living With Ginny Weasley
by Emperor Sunny
Summary: What Harry feels life is like with Ginny post-war. Eight different rules, eight different situations, and about nine chapters to tell you the tale!
1. Chapter 1

Here is a side project I started back after I published the Prologue of the Jimmy Dean series and was stuck on writing the first chapter. Basically, I was having trouble characterizing my characters, and I looked back on WHY I wanted to write a Harry Potter fic anyway- I WAS NOT SATISFIED WITH HARRY POTTER'S CHARACTER AS A WHOLE!

Think about it for a second. He is always dark, moody, whiny, or a prissy goody-two shoes. The "extreme troublemaking" he got in to wasn't that extreme(other than the stuff at the end of each book, of course) so I wanted to explore how to improve him as a character in my eyes. What better ground to cover than the time AFTER the war, starting immediately after?

What did the family(Weasley's plus her Hermione, and especially Ginny) feel about him acting dead?

I've always seen Ginny as a bit of a firebird, and not because she has red hair. She grew up in a household of boys, all older than her. She was shy, and clumsy. She wants to get out of her shell and shine, so she forgets about Harry for a while and blazes he own trail and BLAM! Harry takes notice.

The overall, two major inspirations for this was the not so old TV show called "8 Simple Rules to Dating My Teenage Daughter" and Final Fantasy 10. If you can't figure out what was inspired by FFX, then just ask! I'll tell you next chapter!

In any case, I'm rambling, so I'll let you read this for yourselves, and let you see what you think of my polishing job on... characterization.

_**ENJOI**_

**Eight Simple Rules to Living with Ginny Weasley**

Pilot

The scratching of quill and ink on paper was the only thing heard around the halls and rooms of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. Early rays of light come in through newly replaced windows as the sun slowly rose in the sky.

In his study, Harry James Potter sat hunched over his desk, writing quickly and decisively across the blank pages of a browned leather-back journal. He paused every once in a while to dip his favorite, vibrantly colored peacock feather quill into a pallet of ink. His fiancé, Ginny, bought the quill for him, which, despite the hardships they'd been having, made him cherish it as if it wasn't just a brightly colored everyday object.

With a sigh, he raises his head and stretches his arms and feels his shoulders pop. Closing his eyes and enjoying the sensation of freshly loosened muscles, he is slow to bring his attention back to the diary, but when he does, he begins reading over what he wrote.

_20 April, 2002 _

_Well, this is it. The day I am to be wed to the woman of my dreams (Not that I ever really _dreamt_ of one.) It's been a whole four years since that fateful night back in 1998, and a full three and a half since I started writing everything down in a journal. My psychiatrist thought the diary was a good idea, really. I think its pure rubbish; I mean, what will writing down my thoughts and what I did during a day or week do to help my cope with the sense of loss? Or help cope the daily grind of being an Auror?_

Pausing for a moment, Harry looks up from the book, shakes his head and laughs, as he remembers what the Psychiatric Healer at St. Mungo's had told him during their first session.

"_Harry, sometimes people like you have things they can't or won't say to another person. Keeping secrets is all nice and good, but some things just can't be bottled up. Those things will begin to grow or be added upon, and the pressure will build. Your mental foundation will crack. You have to let some of it go, to have a release. That's why a journal is so perfect; the pages will not judge you or tell you to go vent on someone else. They listen_."

Harry shakes his head again and writes that down as well. Then he plows on, writing more to his diary.

_To be honest, I don't feel it making me better, or worse. But hey, even if they don't make me feel better, then at least they can be used to write a more accurate biography of me when I'm dead. That counts for something, right?_

_But I digress. I'm a little off topic for today, it would seem. Today. Marriage. Beautiful woman._

_Ginevra Molly Weasley. Ginny Potter. Let me write that again. Ginevra. Molly. Potter._

_I _LOVE_ the sound of that. _

_Over the years of going out, hanging out, and just in general _being_ with Ginny Weasley, I've learned that there are certain _things_ you have to do or never do with her. "Rules," if you will. And, well, I figured since I'm getting married to her today, That I'll write them down, so that I can refer to them, or at least laugh atmyself for writing them down later, or something. _

_Rule Number One- Never pretend to be dead, even if it's to save the world._

_Because saving the world ALWAYS comes second to Ginny Weasley's feelings. _

…

"Good morning, Harry."

Harry scrambled from the sheets of his bed and nearly fell through the curtains surrounding it screaming.

"OhmygodRonHermionetheyfoundustheDeatheatersfoundusandaregonna-"

"Harry! It's me, Ginny! Calm down!"

"Wha- Gin- Wait, what? Ginny? Where am I? Why are you here?" Harry's groggy eyes peered through leaden eye lids, confused as to how Ginny could possibly have left Hogwarts and found him without causing a ruckus.

"You're at Hogwarts. You've been sleeping for two whole days," Ginny spoke softly. Her face was relaxed, sad even. Her flame red hair fell down from the crown of her head and into her warm brown eyes. "You kinda disappeared after the battle."

"Battle? What- oh. Yeah, he's gone now isn't he?"

"Yeah," Ginny sighed. She looked upset, angry even

"So how long have I been out?"

"Ever since the morning after the battle. Ron and Hermione and mum are worried sick. I'm worried sick."

"I'm sorry-"

"You BETTER BLOODY WELL BE SORRY HARRY JAMES POTTER!" Ginny exploded. In the span of a split second her face went from a melancholy look to a visage of pure rage. "What in Merlin's dead mind were you thinking, scaring me like that!? I thought you were dead! Gone! The love of my life lying dead in Hagrid's arms! You prat, you git you, you…" her voice trailed off as tears fell from her eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she fought back a sob, and all Harry wanted to do was kiss her.

"I'm sorry-"

"No, you're not! You had to save the bloody world, and you could care less how it would feel for me and mum and all of us to see you dead, as long as it meant that you could fulfill your _damn_ destiny!"

_Those words cut deep. I caused her pain because I had to do what I had to do to keep her safe-the very thing I vowed I would never do. What had I become? At that very moment I wanted nothing more than to just take her in my arms, kiss her tears away, and tell her everything. Too bad my head had a different idea…_

_About eighteen years of mostly withheld emotions got the better of me, _again_, and I unleashed them before I even realized that I had felt them._

"Have you any idea what I've been through?" Harry hissed quietly.

"What? That's not the-"

Harry cut her off. "Oh, that is most definitely the point, Ginny. I've been through hell and back to save the very world that turned its back on me time and time again. And for what? So that I could be with _you. _I did it _for_ you," he spat the word "you" as if at that point and time he would rather have done it for someone else, _anyone_ else. "And all I hear is 'You know what you have done to me?' Are you that really _selfish_?! I ran through fire and smoke, burned in water, drowned in flames, put my neck on a chopping block time after time so that I could have a life with you! So that I could be happy! So that _you_ could be happy!"

The look of shock on her face from his uncharacteristically selfish explosion dissolved almost immediately. "How dare you! I've waited for you for so long, lived through you breaking up with me, lived with the thoughts that you, Ron, and 'Mione were out there, lying dead in a puddle of mud in some forest without so much as a letter from you telling me you're okay!"

"You know that I couldn't have you connected to me that way!I couldn't leave you in dnger! You know I couldn't contact you! It would give me away! It would HAVE PUT YOU IN EVEN MORE DANGER! IF THE CARROWS KNEW YOU WERE WRITING TO ME, THEY WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU TRYING TO FIND ME!"

"I'M NOT A LITTLE GIRL HARRY! I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF!"

"YEAH, YOU'RE ALL GROWN UP, AREN'T YOU, GINNY WEASLEY! YOU CAN'T LISTEN TO WHAT OTHER PEOPLE WANT OR NEED YOU TO DO! YOU CAN'T FOLLOW DIRECTIONS IF IT WOULD KEEP YOU FROM DIEING! DID YOU EVER STOP TO THINK THAT MAYBE I COULD NOT LIVE WITH SEEING YOU DEAD EITHER!?" Harry started pacing back and forth as he screamed, clenching and unclenching his fists as he waved his arms. "I'M SORRY IF I CAUSED YOU A LITTLE PAIN IN ORDER TO ENSURE THAT WE COULD POSSIBLY HAVE A FUTURE TOGETHER!" Harry clenched his fists and then couldn't believe what bhe was about to say. Quieting his voice, he continued.

"I guess I'm also sorry to say that if you can't get past this, we don't need to be seeing each other."

"WHAT!?"

_To this day, I regret those words. It was MY fault that she was in pain. I don't care what anybody else has to say, everything that happened was _my_ fault. Fred's death, Remus and Tonk's deaths, Mad-Eye, Colin Creevey, Cedric, George getting his ear blown off, all of it is on me. If I was smarter, faster, more in control, or more knowledgeable, none of those tragedies would have ever happened. Hell, if I was never born, none of this would have happened…_

_I know, I know, it's all Voldemort's fault. But how can I honestly and shamelessly put all the blame on the dead?_

_I know, that sounds stupid and unreasonable, but that's how I feel._

_All I can say is that that day was biggest regret of my life. _

She choked on a sob and ran from the room. And all Harry could do was stand there and watch as the best thing that ever happened to him run away as if he was a leper.

…

_Later that day, I took a walk around the Black Lake. Acting Headmistress McGonagall had told me earlier that an en masse memorial service was going to be held in Hogsmeade, and that Acting Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt expected me to make a speech while there. Apparently the entire town had partitioned off an entire park to make into a large memorial and graveyard for the fallen defenders of Hogwarts. _

_But I couldn't think about anything that moment except how I had hurt Ginny. Yet again._

"I don't deserve her," Harry mumbled to himself. "She was hurting because of something I did, and here I go, throwing that in her face…"

He kicked a pebble into the placid waters of the lake. The giant squid flicked one its tentacles and the small stone flew back from the water and clocked him on the forehead. The irony was not lost on him, either.

"Yeah, I know. I'm an idiot," he whispered. He rubbed the spot where the smooth stone hit him and sighed.

_It seemed like even the wildlife knew that I was a prat._

Harry continued his trek across the lake shore, no longer oblivious to the great weather. It really was a beautiful spring day, but it seemed dull and gray without Ginny by his side. The golden sun was high in the sky with large, fluffy clouds rolling slowly through the sky. For the first time in a long time the weather wasn't frigid from the mass breeding of Dementors, and the grass had retaken its green color remarkably fast. The trees swayed in a gentle, cool breeze as birds flew down from the large boughs. It seemed as if the wildlife had returned to the Hogwarts grounds overnight, ignorant of the ruins that made up the remains of the castle. But to Harry, it was all colored in shades of gray.

Halfway around the lake a certain tree came into Harry's line of sight.

_It was the oak tree that Gin and I spent so much time together under back in sixth year. Pulled by something I couldn't quite understand (though it almost felt like a Dumbledore type sense of manipulation,) I made my way to the tall, strong tree. If I had known that for the second time that day my life would be changed forever, I would have tried to fruitlessly tame my wild hair. _

_I remember Mrs. Weasley mention something about a hair cut as soon as we got to the Burrow. I should have asked for one right then and there._

As he neared the trees vicinity, he heard a sniffle and a cough. "What did I do wrong, Luna? I swore I wasn't going to go off, and I did, and now…" and then he saw that both Ginny and Luna Lovegood sat at the base of the trunk, Ginny curled into Luna's arms bawling her eyes out.

_Luna's soft, smooth voice answered with the trademark dreamy tone that had made Luna… well, Luna. _

"You've both been through a lot, and Harry has been known to have a temper. Give him time. Give both you and him time."

"He's had two days!"

"Two days full of nightmare-ridden, restless sleep, as I hear from Ron. And he's only had five hours since your argument."

_At that moment I remembered the pictures Loony put up in her room of all of us, and that surge of affection I felt for her then came roaring back. Only Luna Lovegood could comfort you and defend the person who forced you to need to comfort at the same time._

"I- that's-… you're right. You are right. What I did was wrong and selfish and I'm going to go apologize to right now at this moment," Ginny said, a tone of decisiveness in her voice. Her body language, however, said she wanted to do nothing of the sort, and she ended up sobbing into her best friends arms all over again.

"He hates me!"

"Harry has just finished a half a year long quest to stop the most dangerous Dark Lord the world has ever seen, has just now stopped living life on the run, and now has about a million things to think about, his and your relationship being one of the few at the top," Luna soothed as she ran her fingers through Ginny's long red hair.

"Oh, Merlin's Beard! How can I be thinking about nothing but how I felt when I saw him playing dead when he has been through so much?!"

"You're right, I have been through a lot."

"Wha- oh, Harry, I- um.. I'll just be-"Ginny stammered, acting less like the woman she'd grown into and more like the girl she used to be.

_I was flattered; I still had that effect on her? It literally made me weak in the knees._

"I'll just be leaving you two alone, see you in the hall for dinner, Harry?"

"Sure thing, Luna."

"Excellent. And be sure to stay away from the _fountains_," she intoned suggestively, looking at Ginny's face. "Their full of wrackspurts, if you know what I mean." With that, she put on her signature dreamy smile and skipped back to the castle, hopping girlishly over the rocks along the shore.

"So…" Harry said jokingly, feigning arrogance.

"What?" Ginny asked tersely, obviously feeling uncomfortable.

_I love how she looks when she's flustered. Her eyes narrow and they shift nervously, and she has a habit of playing with that beautiful red hair. It adds to her homey charm._

"I love you," Harry spouted, quickly, confidently, and self-assuredly. Looking her dead in the eye, he said it again. "I love you more than you'll ever know. I'll never play dead in front of you ever again."

Wiping her tears away, he proceeded to grip her face in his fingertips and kissed her.

After what seemed to be about a million years that really only lasted about thirty seconds, he pulled back slowly and looked her in the eyes again, fearful and nervous again.

"I'll accept your apology if you accept mine, she whispered raggedly, caught up in the moment.

Harry smiled a goofy, crooked smile and pulled her into his lap happily. "There's the silver lining I was looking for," he mimicked jokingly.

Ginny laughed and slapped his arm before wrapping hers around his neck, blinking seductively.

"Shut up and kiss me, Hero-Boy."

_Needless to say, I didn't see Luna in the Great Hall that night. _

_**Coming up…**_

Rule Number2: Never try to take Ginny Weasley's significant other.

_I learned that early on in our relationship. Or rather, Cho Chang did…_


	2. Chapter 2

Hello again, everybody! Ready for round two?

Good, 'cause I am. And oh, please don't mind the whole in my forehead. I realized about 3/4's of the way through writing this chapter that I was actually writing a romantic comedy. I promptly committed suicide, but apparently I have caught a bit of a zombie virus, so I had no choice but to trudge along.

This chapter was written in inspiration brought on by a conversation with Clare Stovold, who reads AND reviews evrything I have written so far in the Harry Potter field. What can I say, she's a writer's dream come true.

And to the 'anonymous' reviewers who I can't reply back through conventional means because you are "anonymous(gah, 4chan flashback..)"-

**Amy said-** "I really like this idea, and am liking the way your bringing the story together!"

**Sunny says-** Thank you much. Oh, and I took the liberty to capitalize your "I."

**Menice said-** "verry nice and criative :D

keep up the good job"

**Sunny says-** I like to think that I am creative. And I like the way you misspell words(this really is a compliment), "criative" makes me think of Croatoa. And I like Croatoa.

**Megan says-** "my god!! love this so far. it's a really cute and unique idea. g/h fics are so repetative so throwing this sense of humor into it makes it that much better. i realy cant wait for the next chapter please please update soon!!"

**Sunny Says-** I think the reason behind the repetitiveness is that most writers don't really read into what the character is like, or who they really are. It's really easy to say- "They did this, then kissed." It's a lot harder to dig in deep into an authors writing and really see what the character is like, so all the "bad writers" for a lack of a better term, cover up their lack of intuition with sex. But really, who's complaining?

P.S.- I like acid pops.

...

Just as Harry finishes recounting this story, a WHOOSH sounds from the common are downstairs.

"Harry!" Ronald Weasley's voice shouts from the foyer.

"Up here, Ron! In my study!" Harry responds, and then, with a smile waited for the usual occurrence to take place.

"Master Weazelly, would the good sir like a pastry? Kreacher cooks them just now…" the house elf queried in his sweetest, raspiest voice.

"Oh, uh… well, I just had breakfast with Hermione and-"

"But Master Weazelly just _always_ has Kreacher's pastries! _ALWAYS_!" And then Harry heard Kreacher's wails and stomps on the floor as he bawled his eyes out. That bloody elf was getting loonier and loonier by the day…

"I didn't say I wouldn't have one!" Ron shouts defensively, insulted that his eating prowess had been questioned. "If you'd let me finish, I would have told that a one egg omelet is not a real breakfast. Gimme those."

Harry reclines in his chair and turns towards the door as his best mate stomped up the stairs. Without even knocking, he barges on through and plops down on the couch opposite Harry's desk.

"Oi, I gotta tell you, mate, that elf is getting battier by the week," Ron barely gets out over a mouthful of Bavarian-cream filled donuts. "Weazelly? Seriously?"

"Yeah, well, Winky keeps him in line. 'Because she a _Proper _House Elf, she is.'" Harry mimics, sounding just like his second adopted House Elf.

"Ha ha ha, you got that down good, mate. So, how's your week been? Haven't seen you at the office."

"Yeah, well, wedding plans and all," Harry responds, waving his arms about the room as if it was where all the planning went down. "'Cause you _know_ I _really_ had I voice in all of it."

Ron laughed, spraying small particles of baked dough through the air. Harry was glad he was on the opposite side of the room. "True that, mate, too true."

"So, what are you so early for? It's only-" Harry took a look down at the watch Molly Weasley gave him for his seventeenth birthday and was shocked to see how early it really was. "Six-thirty five."

"Yeah, well, 'Mione woke up early and wanted me out of the loft so that "the girls" could get ready for your big day. Speaking of waking up early, why are _you_ up so early?"

"Couldn't sleep last night, so I got up a while before dawn, started writing in the journal."

"I see. Wait, a second. So you're telling me you haven't done _anything _substantial_,_ the _entire_ week," Ron asked slowly, as if he couldn't comprehend what his friend was thinking. "We didn't even have a bachelor party?"

"Yeah. I've basically been shut up here, writing letters, eating elf-made food, and petting Artemis. Remember Artemis?"

"Yeah, your new owl that will 'never replace Hedwig in any way, shape or form,' even though you and Ginny both love the ugly cretin to death."

"Yeah, he's amazing. So I've basically been writing back and forth all around the world, looking for a place to go to for our honeymoon. I was thinking Hawaii, but I don't know, it's hurricane season. So I'm thinking two weeks in France, starting with Paris. A real pre-honeymoon vacation."

Ron got a look on his face that implied that what Harry just said gave him an idea. And when Ron got ideas…

"I got it, mate."

"Oh, no…"

…

The streets of Hogsmeade were busier than usual, even for a Saturday. Children ran the streets happily, store hopping from ice cream shops to Honeydukes to the Weasley Wizard's Wheezes branch that George had opened up a few years back. Parents gladly let them run, giving them money as so they could spend time on their own, walking through the beautiful War Memorial Park, have tea and biscuits at Madame Puddifoot's, or just sit on a bench and enjoy the fine spring weather.

"Ron, why are we here?"

"You'll see in a minute, mate."

Ron led Harry down the streets of the village with a sense of purpose. His self-assured gait was something he had never had during his days at Hogwarts. It seemed like after the war, everything changed.

But the changes were never more evident than right here, in Hogsmeade.

Before the war everything had been drab and depressing. All the houses and shops looked rundown in a sense, like as if they had been built decades before and had been maintained poorly with their grayish hues and sinking roofs. The people had always been reclusive and unfriendly, and nobody talked to anyone they didn't know if it could have been avoided.

But the village had been completely rebuilt, as when the battle at Hogwarts commenced, giants had torn down a third of the village and escaping Death Eaters burned down the rest. With the help of the Ministry, many people had gotten solid, if not modest-paying work helping to rebuild and repair the village to its former glory. However, during the days of a Dark Lord-run government, many people who were associated with muggles or muggle-born wizards and witches had been thrown out of their work, their homes taken and everything they owned repossessed, even their monetary wealth. And as soon as the work around Hogsmeade had dried up, thousands of witches and wizards, young and old, big and small were left poor, homeless, and unemployed.

However, Hermione had a plan to change all that. Submitting a rough draft plan to Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione got a chance to practice her lawyer skills and practically ensured her place in the Merlin University's Institute and School of Magical Law. She suggested that by working with large name Wizarding companies(namely the Malfoys), the Ministry could build homes and shelters, as well as start an employment program to help the unemployed and homeless. By training witches and wizards to work in muggle jobs, the government could supply the skills so that people could get work in the non-magical community while building homes with income-based rent until the tenants could get back on their feet.

Another man, a pure-blood descended squib entrepreneur by the name of Damien Goshawk, with the help of Dennis Creevey, perfected a way to get muggle electronics to work in magical settings. Soon telephones, televisions, and computers dial-up internet became a new fad. Jobs were opened up in the telecommunications industry for camera men, reporters, actors, production crews, web-designers, and sports commentators.

The lifestyles of wizards and witches in Britain had changed dramatically, and life had finally begun to fully prosper in England and the surrounding nations. The houses and businesses of Hogsmeade had become lighter colored and cheerier, and people talked amicably among themselves on the streets. It seemed as if the veneer of over lapping fear was forever gone with the wind…

"And here we are," Ron stated, pulling Harry from his ruminations. Before the two of them stood a shop colored in bright pinks and romantic reds, with a seductively detailed sign above the door reading:

_Amata and Sir Luckless's Romantic Boutique_

_The Perfect Spot For Spicing Up The Already Perfect Love Life_

"Ron," Harry deadpanned, absolutely mortified with the situation.

"Yeah, mate?" Ron asked innocently, looking up at the sign and back at Harry, confused.

"We seriously need to have a talk about your now suspect sexuality."

"What? We aren't here for me and you, you totter pot. Blimey, Harry, we're here for you and _Ginny_." He stressed, waving his arms about and making it seem as if this was common knowledge. "Think, for a moment, what you and my dear baby sister are going to be _doing _tonight."

"I'd rather not think about you thinking about what I and your dear, baby sister are going to be doing tonight."

"Ugh, you're hopeless," Ron dramatized. He began walking in circles and waved his arms, looking up the sky. "He's hopeless!" Ron cried loudly, talking to the clouds.

"Shut your mouth, you loon! Okay, okay, what are you thinking we should do?"

Ron smiled a devious smile, a smile so insidious that Harry was sure Draco Malfoy would have been jealous. "Why, I'm glad you came to me for help, my good mate. I'm going to show _you_ what to _do_ tonight after your and Ginny's parlay with publicly ending your bachelorized freedoms."

"What? I didn't come to you for-"

"Da na na na na na," Ron interrupted, holding a finger to his lips and shaking his head. "Don't speak, but listen, my friend. With my help, you're going to show Ginny a night she'll never forget," Ron paused, then shrugged after a moment of thoughtful silence. "As long as she doesn't get so bloody piss-faced off the champagne that she _can't_ remember a lick of it, of course. Remember what happened last time?"

"Oh bloody _hell_..." Harry groaned. This was going to be even worse than he originally thought.

…

"Welcome to Amata and Sir Luckless's Boutique, gentleman, can I help you with anything?" the cashier asked, her smooth, husky, Scottish accent bringing thoughts no engaged man should ever have in his brain to the forefront. She wore rather tight, low cut leather pants and a revealing lace corset underneath her apron, and her crystal blue eyes were covered partially by her sexily haphazard, dark brown hair.

Looking around the store, the first thing they both noticed was the sheer mass of lingerie that was racked on the main floor. Harry realized with a small blush that while the whole store would look good on his fiancé, the skimpy outfits would look _so_ much better on his bedroom floor.

"Yes, actually, we do," Ron said slyly, as if he and Hermione weren't really a couple themselves.

'_When did you Ron become such a ladies' man? Must have been the time he spent working with George_,' Harry thought scathingly. He continued his scan of the store. Along the walls were soaps, shampoos, oils, lotions, potions, and… '_Oh GOD, no… Ron…_'

"My good mate here is getting married tonight, "Ron continued merrily. "And he wants to show his new bride a night she'll always remember."

The look of realization crossed the young woman's face and she gasped. "Oh, you- your Harry Potter," she breathed. "But of course, yes, um… yes, what can we do for you, sirs?"

"Yeah I'm Harry-freaking-Potter," Harry deadpanned, no longer attracted to the scarlet woman in any way shape or form. Fan girls _sucked_.

"Don't listen to him, he's a wee ickle cranky," Ron soothed. Leaning in closer, he whispered, "Been cooped up in the old bachelor pad for a week, no, uh… release with the fiancé, get what I mean?"

The girl giggled and turned beet red. "Of course sir, of course. That'll change tonight, I'd say, eh? What are you thinking we should do?"

"Oh, I don't know… I've never wooed a woman like this. Say, you're a girl-"

"Whatever you're thinking, Ron, _don't_ say it."

"…What would you like to have done for you on your wedding night if you were marrying the Chosen One?"

The girl gave Ron a flirtatious smile and blushed a deeper shade of red. "Well, what do you say we start with a bath?"

"A _bath_?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well yes, I would love to have my Boy-Who-Lived scrub me down in a hot soak after a long night of champagne and dancing! He would take my dress off slowly-"

"Okay, we really don't need details, miss-"

"Cadswallop," Ron interrupted. "Harry," he continued, pointing at the girl and facetiously whispering loud enough for her to hear. "She's a professional. You _are_ a professional, right?"

She giggled uncontrollably and nodded. "Anyway, as I was saying..."

Harry groaned inwardly for what seemed like the millionth time. It was going to be a _long_ morning…

…

"First off, the bathing supplies," the boutique girl listed off her mental checklist. "Bath oils… what is her favorite scent?"

"…uh…"

"Never mind. What does her hair always smell like?"

"Strawberries and cream, a dash of vanilla," Harry spouted, not realizing he said it.

"Oh! She must shop here then! Strawberry and vanilla… strawberry and vanilla…" she prattled on, shoving numerous strawberry pink bottles into Harry's arms unceremoniously. "That's Madame Chang's specialty, you know."

"_Chang_?" Ron and Harry both asked at the same time, bewildered.

"Yes, Madame Li Chang," the girl answered hurriedly, grabbing more bottles of lotion and bath oil, dumping the lot into Harry's already full arms. "She started this boutique with her daughter Cho a few years back, it's so sad."

"Sad?" they asked simultaneously again.

"Oh, yeah, 'cause, you know, her old boyfriend was _Cedric Diggory_," she said conspiratorially. "That other Hogwarts champion who died? You knew him, what am I saying?" the girl then slapped her forehead dramatically. "Anyway, she found this new guy at the end of her Hogwarts days, but apparently he broke her heart after the war, went after some other woman. Poor girl, every boy she fancies breaks her heart in one way or another. And to add insult to injury, her dad got killed by Death Eaters a day or so after the battle. What's her size?" the woman asked, as if the death of Cho's father was of little concern.

"Huh?" they asked again simultaneously, completely unaware that Cho's dad had died, much less had been murdered.

"Ugh, _men_, what's her height?"

Harry shook himself awake from his stupor and answered "Five foot six."

"Okay, so in inches that would be… yes. Weight?"

"What? I dunno, she never lets me look at the scales. What about Ch-"

"Smart woman. Chest, waist, hips?"

"How the bloody hell is he supposed to know that?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Thirty, twenty, thirty. Now about this Ch-"

"How the bloody hell you know that!?"

"Last year's Christmas Ball. You were saying?"

"Wait, last year? Hasn't she grown since? Gained weight? Lost some kilograms?" the girl asked, looking at Harry stupidly.

"She wore the lingerie from that night to dinner last week."

"She wears lingerie more than once?" the woman asked, disgusted. "She's not as smart as I thought-"

"Hey!" they yelled simultaneously.

"That's my fiancé!"

"That's my sister you're talking about!"

Stunned, the girl stepped back and into a rack of lacy corsets.

"Amelia, what's going on?" A very familiar voice sounded from across the main floor. A familiar face, a face belonging to Cho Chang walked up to the soap cupboards, and as soon as see caught sight of Ron and Harry, it split from pleasantly confused and courteous to pure rage. "You!?"

"Uh… hi. Cho. Ron, what do you say we go get some, uh…?" Harry stammered fearfully.

"Yeah, sounds good, uh… whatever your name is mate," Ron agreed, his face betraying his equal horror.

"What. Are. You. Doing. Here. Harry."

"He did it," Harry accused, pointing at Ron.

"Honestly, if I had known he shot you down, and that you owned this place, I wouldn't have-bye!"

Grabbing Harry's arm, Ron yanked him across the main floor and out of the door in a flash, making Harry drop the assorted potions and body washes Amelia had forced into his hands. As he flew out the door, Harry gave Cho a sad look.

"Sorry about your dad, I didn't know!"

…

"Can I kill you now, or shall I wait until after wedding pictures?" Harry panted as they walked into the Six Broomsticks, the larger, more improved version of the old Three Broomsticks. It had changed considerably from its old configuration. Where it once looked drab, if not clean, it was now bathed in soft yellow light from bronze lamps placed across the redwood wall planks and bar. Comfortable chairs surrounded varnished pine tables and soft music played from artfully hidden speakers.

"Don't bother, I think I'll just go jump off a cliff myself," Ron replied as he took a seat at the bar. "Two firewhiskeys, Rosmerta, and make 'em heavy."

"I'll take a lager, too," Harry asked, and Rosmerta nodded without a word. "You, mate, just broke rule number two."

"Number two? What rule? For what?"

"The second rule to living with Ginny. Never, ever try to take Ginny Weasley's significant other. Well, you didn't, but Cho did, and if Ginny ever knows I was in her boutique, she'd castrate me."

Ron laughed and shook his head. Rosmerta brought their drinks to them briskly and didn't bother asking for their tab. "Thanks, Rosie," Ron said appreciably, hold his shot glass up. She smiled and nodded, then went back to cleaning the far end of the bar. "Someday, if I ever have a daughter, I'm naming her after that woman… anyway; I'm assuming there is a hilarious story behind this whole Cho Chang incident?"

"Yeah, wanna hear it?"

"Do I have anything better to do?"

"Right. Anyway, it all started the day after me and Gin made up…"

…

_Rule Number Two- Never try to take Ginny Weasley's significant other._

_This is something else I learned early on in our relationship. Or rather, Cho Chang did._

Harry awoke in his bed, slowly remembering the night before. At first it felt like a dream, but he realized with a start that he didn't usually sleep starkers. With a smile, he rolled over to wake Ginny up and with another small flinch he realized that she wasn't in bed anymore.

At first, he thought that maybe it really was a dream, but then he caught sight of the small piece of parchment on the pillow. Picking it up, he saw Ginny's articulate, looping writing say:

"Good Morning, Love! I woke up at six and couldn't fall back asleep,

so I decided to get out of your dormitory while the other guys were

asleep. I'll see you down in the Great Hall for breakfast?

Love, Ginny.

_I still have that note, spello-taped to the cover of my first journal. It still smells like the perfume she sprayed it with, too. Strawberry and vanilla… hey, don't give me that, mate, it's a trademark._

A goofy, lazy smile forced open his sleep-weary face and Harry sat up, holding the folded paper tightly in his hand. Getting out bed holding a sheet close around his waist, he placed the piece of parchment carefully in his "useless items I'm still taking with me" bag and hauled himself over to Seamus's trunk.

"I don't think he's going to miss a shirt and some jeans," Harry spoke quietly to himself. Pulling out a green and yellow Kenmore Kestrels t-shirt and a pair of Seamus's ripped up jeans, Harry tugged them on and grabbed his trainers as whistled his way out the dorm.

He all but ran to the portal of the common room and was out the front door in a flash. With a huff from the Fat Lady, the Gryffindor Tower door swung shut as Harry hobbled down the hall, trying desperately to get his shoes on and power walk at the same time.

Without even hearing the person's sobs, he turned down the hall to the stairs and walked right into someone. The girl fell backwards and landed on her back with a startled shriek and a loud "Ow!"

"Oh, uh, sorry miss, I wasn't watching where I- Cho?"

…

"I thought you said Harry was going to be coming down soon," Hermione complained. "McGonagall wants to talk to us and-"

"Hermione, seriously, Harry just saved the world. He can choose when he talks to Professor McGonagall whenever he wants, and not one moment sooner," Ron interrupted bluntly, waving his fork at her warningly. "And don't even try to force a lecture down me or his throats, we deserve the leniency."

"Wow, I'm shocked, Ron, you know big boy words!" Ginny teased jokingly, sipping her pumkin juice and looking back at the Great Hall entrance.

"Oi! I'm no half-wit, just because I don't try to talk like a person of higher intelligence doesn't mean I'm not," Ron shot back, shoveling his third helping of eggs into his mouth greedily.

"Yeah, just look at how you act at the breakfast table, that really shows how big-brained you are," Ginny shot back with a laugh. Getting up and grabbing her bag, she looked at Hermione and said, "You know, I think I'm just going to go wake him up. It's almost eleven anyway…"

"No funny busee-nesh!" Ron screamed through a piece of half masticated toast.

Ginny rolled her eyes and muttered, "Whatever."

As she turned out of the hall, Hermione swatted Ron on the back of the head.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he asked indignantly.

"You can't _honestly_ tell me that some '_funny business_' as you like to call it, didn't happen last night?"

"What you talking about?" Ron asked, his face turning gray in mortification.

"If Ginny didn't sleep in the girl's dormitories last night, then where did she?"

…

Ginny was at the top of the stairs when she heard Harry's voice sound out from the end of the hallway. Smiling she started to walk his way, but what she heard him say gave her pause.

"Oh, uh, sorry miss, I wasn't watching where I- Cho?" What was Cho Chang doing up near Gryffindor Tower?

"Oh, Harry!" Ginny heard her say, sounding relieved. She also sounded like she had been crying, which wasn't surprising, as Ginny had heard that Cho's father wasn't had been murdered the night before.

"Cho, why are you crying… er... again?"

"Oh, it's, it's nothing," she murmured, and then Ginny heard Harry sound an audible "Oof."

"Uh… um. Er… what are you doing?" Harry asked. That set Ginny off. What was he doing to her boyfriend?

"It's just that I really, really like you and I really want to do this."

"Do this? What is th-mmph!"

Turning the corner, Ginny saw Cho shoving _her_ tongue down _her_ Harry's throat.

And that would just not do.

…

To say Harry was shell-shocked would be the understatement of the century, right next to "Voldemort equals evil," and "Weasley's are rather procreative." He did not expect Cho to come on to him so strongly, much less come on to him at _all_.

So shocked was he that he stood as still and straight as a washboard, even as her hand groped his bum roughly. And when he heard Ginny's voice scream something along the lines of "Get your hands off him, you dirty harlot," then he _really_ couldn't move.

He was done for. All that courage he mustered up the day before was wasted because Cho just _had_ to come along and play flick-the-tonsil with Harry's throat. Ginny was going to kill him before he could give her an explanation, or worse yet just leave him, ruining his relationship with the entire Weasley family.

And then came the bats. Oh, yeah, he and Cho were going to die, right there in the corridor outside Gryffindor tower. And he realized with a sudden sense of dread that he would have rather died alongside someone, anyone else, even Voldemort, than Cho. It was all her fault, really. She was a terrible person and he decided that when he died, his ghost was going to haunt her spirit for eternity.

_I remember thinking, "Maybe Fred will have some ideas, and we can pull them off together." As neat as that would have been, I'm glad Ginny, despite her anger towards Cho, kept a pretty cool head about it._

Cho's screams pulled Harry back to reality. Why wasn't he being eaten alive? Opening his eyes, he was met with the most disturbing scene of his life; Ginny standing over Cho's bat covered body laughing like a maniac.

_Disturbing? A little. Sexy? Most _definitely_. _

"If you ever touch him in anyway whatsoever, I'll feed you to the squid. Questions?" Ginny seethed calmly, which Harry really didn't know how she could seethe and be calm at the same time, but alas, she was.

Covered in bite marks and bat guano, Cho nodded and took off down the hallway, bawling her eyes out. "What is it with that girl and always wanting what's mine?" Ginny asked ruefully, her mannerisms going from violent to friendly within moments.

"You- you're not mad?"

With a laugh, Ginny just shook her head and smiled, grabbing Harry into a hug. "I heard the conversation, I know you weren't interested."

Harry sagged with relief. "Oh, thank God," he breathed, pulling her to him even closer.

"Yeah, tell me about it," she sighed happily before grabbing her robes' sleeve and shoved it into his mouth, trying to swab it out.

Harry recoiled from the embrace and gasped, "What are you doing?"

With a shrug, she replied, "Cleaning out your mouth. I don't want to taste Cho-spit the next time I kiss you."

'Yeah, you got a point," Harry laughed.

"By the way, you're looking good this morning. Wild boy hair, tight Kestrels shirt, and ripped up jeans? Very rebel of you."

Looking down at his attire, he grinned arrogantly and winked. "I aim to please, me petit."

With a laugh, she grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the stairs. "Come on, Chosen One, you have a date McGonagall."

…

"Oi, Dean!" Seamus yelled the morning, kneeling down by his trunk and digging around.

"Whatcha need, Seamus?" Dean asked, packing his trunk at the foot of his bed.

"Have you seen my Kenmore Kestrels shirt? I thought it was in my trunk," Seamus replied.

"No, but did you know Harry likes them, too? I saw him wearing a shirt like yours the other day…"

...

**_Coming Up..._**

_Never tell Ginny Weasley she said something different immediately after she said something completely opposite._

_i.e- Muriel's funeral._


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, after so loooooong with not updating, I finally got around to doing so! I apologize about the wait,but with school, family, my other, bigger story, and various other projects, coupled with writer's block, I just didn't have the time or motivation. But without further adooooo... I bring yoooouuu... Chapter Tres.

_**Enjoi**_

* * *

Ron barked off a hearty laugh and slapped his knee. "Oi, I always did hate that twit," he breathed, gasping for air. "And Ginny bat bogey-ing her, that's priceless. Simply, elegantly priceless."

"You never hated Cho," Harry protested. "You gave her a good look-see as much as I did."

"What?" Ron gushed, obviously insulted. "I never fancied _Cho_; I always had eyes for 'Mione."

Harry sighed and looked down at his watch, shaking his head. "It's eight-twenty three, I'm gonna head back to Grimmauld. Rosmerta!"

Ron waved Harry's hand down and gave him a shove towards the door. "Dun worry about it, you chum. I'll cover you."

Harry's hero complex, which mandated that he not rely on someone else for anything, made him voice his doubts. "No, mate, I'm-"

"Harry, how many times do I have to tell you? For the first time in my life I have two galleons to rub together, and it's all because of you. Lemme front you."

Harry's friendship won out on his selfishly selfless desires and he consented. With a facetious smile he patted Ron on the shoulder. "Jolly good, then."

"Sarcasm won't win you anything, you twat. Just remember who your best man is."

"My bride's brother?"

"Get going, you prat."

* * *

With a muffled whoosh Harry appeared out of the fire and walked into the common room of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, straight into a smothering hug.

"Harry! There you are, dear," Crooned the voice of Mrs. Molly Weasley.

"Oh, hey Mum, didn't see you there. Why are you in my living room?"

Mrs. Weasley scoffed at Harry's blunt rudeness, and then smiled as she pulled him into another death-squeeze. "Oh, I just wanted to see my favorite future son-in-law!"

_Unless Percy has come out of the closet and has gotten engaged to a Frenchman named Jean-Pierre, I'm fairly certain I'm your _only_ future son-in-law._

"I also wanted to tell you, Fleur and I decided to have Ginny wear Muriel's old tiara at the wedding! She'll look so beautiful, won't she?"

_Oh, Merlin's beard._ "Yeah, Mrs. Weasley," Harry intoned monotonously, going into full-on "Guy Auto-Pilot Mode." For some reason he dreaded Ginny wearing that blasted tiara. Why?

"Oh don't call me that anymore, Harry! I'm your mum now, and don't you forget it! Now, have you got your dress robes in order…?" Mrs. Weasley prattled on motheringly. Harry didn't hear anything she said.

To be more exact, he didn't hear anything except "Muriel, tiara, wedding." Why was Muriel in the picture, anyway?

"Mum, please tell me Muriel isn't coming to my wedding," Harry deadpanned, his voice drawling out in that same monotone.

"What? Dear, Muriel passed on a year and a half ago, remember? From a stroke? God rest her weary soul, that lovely old woman. Now about your corsage…"

Oh, right. She did kick the bucket, didn't she? But why did he forget that? Oh, that's right…

"Mum, could you please excuse me? I have to go write a… er, this thing down. I'll send Artemis to you before I come down to the Burrow."

* * *

_Rule Number 3-Never tell Ginny Weasley she said something different immediately after she said something completely opposite._

_It was almost two years ago when Percy, the only Weasley (much less human being in general) that Aunt Muriel liked, stopped by her home and found her slouched in her rocking chair, with a burnt out cigarette in one hand and a bottle of half finished FirewhiskeyFire whiskey in the other. _

_Ginny was back from Hogwarts for Christmas holiday, and she was staying with me at Grimmauld for the period; much to her mother's chagrin…_

"I just can't believe she's gone," Ginny gasped dramatically, drying her snotty nose with a tissue and swiping her watering eyes with her free hand. She shifted herself on Harry's lap and nudged her head tighter underneath his chin. "She was too young."

_Too young? Too YOUNG!? That stupid old cow was, like, I dunno… eight hundred!_

"Oh, yeah, Muriel had a long life ahead of her…" _I didn't even know she smoked. Emphysema graduating class of '00, with a minor in lung cancer, anybody?_

"Oh, Merlin, I'm so sorry, Harry, you shouldn't have to see me like this. All snotty and crying and…"

"Oh, no, it's all right. You're keeping me warm on this cold, ruthless winter night. Can't say that about ole' Kreacher."

Ginny giggled sadly and burrowed herself deeper into Harry's chest. "You always know what to say to make me laugh, even when I shouldn't."

"Why shouldn't you?"

"Uh… my favorite aunt is dead?"

"Gin, just because somebody is dead… you shouldn't stop smiling. They're in a better- wait… 'Favorite aunt?'"

"Muriel was such a sweetheart!"

"You hated her guts!"

_Ginny's face went sour faster than a snitch. The red face, bared teeth and evil, hate-laced brown eyes was something that was all too familiar within my then one and a half years of being with her. _

"How dare you. How _dare_ you."

"Ginny, you yourself said that she was a batty old windbag. She gave you a sack of hippogriff dung for your sixth birthday! Hippogriff dung that actually turned out to be a bunch of dead Bundimuns!"

"To fertilize the garden!"

_Okay, the story behind "the garden" is this: when Ginny was six, she decided that all prim-and-proper little girls had a garden. Muriel had caught wind of this and had decided that Ginny would enjoy a bag of fertilizer for her little collection of flowers. Problem was, she intentionally bought a bunch of Bundimuns, an oozing, goopy species of creature that spat acid_- corrosive acid-_ at predators. Stuffing them into a stolen fertilizer bag, she sent it to Ginny, by owl, on her birthday. The card told her it was for her garden, and that she should hurry and put the "dung" on her flowers immediately. Ginny, believing her great aunt, rushed to dump the bag on her garden of daisies and petunias. End result- Ginny's flowers were eaten away courtesy of corrosive acid, and her hands were severely burned in the process._

_Kicker? Muriel thought that a proper pureblood lady never dallied in such _degrading_ tasks such as playing in dirt. So she gave a bunch of rotting acid spitters to Ginny to steer her away from the garden, which she boldly told Molly, and ah-your-welcome!_

_I've hated Muriel even more since Charlie told me that story. And I never thought that even was possible…_

"To stop you from having the garden! This is madness, Gin!"

"_Madness_?"

"Aye, madness!"

_After that, all I can remember thinking before finding myself on the street of Grimmauld Place is "Uh oh."_

…

"I can't believe she kicked me out of a house she doesn't even live in!" Harry roared as he kicked his front door in rage. "Madness!"

Kreacher sighed and looked up at his master imploringly. Then, noticing that a bum down the road could see him, he disappeared. Artemis, his new owl, which Ginny had gotten him just earlier that week, hooted in exasperation. The Great Horned Owl ruffled his feathers imperiously, and then promptly covered his eyes and beak with a wing and started dozing.

"Lazy bird."

"Oi, cut yer yappin' boy!" the old beggar screamed from the end of the lane. "I'm try'n ter sleep here, eh!"

"Oh, suck it! Why don't you go get a job!" Harry screamed back, turning to the dirty old bum's direction violently.

"I'll-" the beggar started before getting choked off as Harry pointed his wand at the man and sent him flying further down his alley before obliviating him.

"I need a pint," Harry seethed as he tore to Grimmauld's apparition point. Casting a patronus, he quickly sent a message to Ron, and with a crack, apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Walking in the front door, he regarded the sign.

"**No Bums: Beg for your Knuts somewhere else!"**

_I couldn't help but snort at that. I felt that it was rather ironic how only the homeless were begging change at that time. Only the muggle-borns who had lost everything they owned were actually saying "Hey, there's a problem! Voldemort's regime left us wandless, jobless, and homeless!" And this was the same Ministry I was trying to help?_

"Knuts?" A random teenage girl asked as she and her friends walked by. "Why would a bunch of bums beg for nuts?"

"I dunno, so that they can eat?" A guy piped in from the group, obviously trying to impress the girl.

"Ugh," the teen seethed. "Can't even spell 'nuts' right, stupid drunks."

It appeared that I wasn't the only one with romantic problems that night.

"C'mon, Dwayne!" Harry heard the girl shout. Looking in the groups general direction, he noticed that the guy had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at him as he walked to the bar entrance. The look on his face was shock. What did Harry do?

_Was there something on my face? Did I accidently use magic without knowing? Was he the only one that noticed? Or the only one who cared? I remember gripping my wand, expecting the worst._

The guy stared curiously for a moment more, and then the girl called to him again. Snapping out of it, he shook his head and sent me an apologetic look. "Sorry, thought I knew that guy."

_It was mistaken identity! MERLIN, I'M TURNING OUT TO BE MAD-EYE!_

Sighing, Harry released his grip on his wand, and opened the door to the pub. As soon as he did, however, he wished he had pulled the magical stick out anyway.

"Oi, I got your patronus, mate. How come you didn't send that new owl of yours, Artemis?" Ron practically jumped on Harry as he came through the door. "Is Ginny alright? Mum said she was not taking Muriel's death that well."

"Oi, back off! I came here to talk to you, not play twenty questions! And no, Gin is not 'all right.' She's a bloody monster."

"Monster?"

"Monster. 'Oh, I can't believe it! Muriel was my favorite aunt! I miss her already!'"

"What? Ginny said that?" Ron asked quietly, dumbfounded.

_No offence to my best mate, but he seems to do that a lot. Look like a fish out of water, I mean._

"Yeah."

Ron nodded thoughtfully, biting his lip. "Well, there is only one thing we can do."

Harry nodded and smirked at his best mate. "Get sloshed, piss faced drunk."

Ron smiled broadly and clapped Harry on the shoulder, holding a mug up in toast. "Now that, my dear mate, is something I can drink to."

* * *

"I just can't believe him, 'Mione! He was just so cold, and mean!" Ginny all but screamed into Hermione's arms, as the bushy haired witch ran her hands up and down her best friend's back. As soon as she'd kicked Harry, his damnable owl Artemis, and that foul Kreacher out of their own home, she had floo'ed Hermione and got her over in little to no time.

"It's okay, Gin. What did you argue about?"

"Muriel."

"What? You argued about Muriel? What, has Harry somehow grown some kind of oddball liking for that old hag?"

"Hermione!"

"What?"

"How could you say that," Ginny looked at her friend, hurt and feeling misunderstood. "When my poor aunt has died?"

"'Poor?' The only person she _remotely_ liked was Percy, and we all know how _questionable_ that was. You yourself said you couldn't wait until she got what she had coming."

"I didn't want her to die!"

"No, but you sure as bloody hell didn't like her!"

Ginny paused, glaring her friend down, to very little effect. She was, at least a little, trying to cover her shock at hearing Hermione curse. She knew Hermione was right, too, but still. Muriel… All she wanted was for her family to love each other, even batty old Muriel. The only reason she said she hated the woman was out of frustration from always being thrown out on the curb emotionally by the one person whom she wanted respect from. So it was natural that she was heartbroken because she never got the chance to actually get Muriel to love her. Right?

Ginny really did know that Hermione was right. But that didn't stop Ginny from being stubborn- she really did not know how to put to words why she was acting so foolish, she just didn't know. So, being the kind of person who wore her emotions proudly upon her sleeves, she spoke from her heart.

"I just wanted her to love me."

Hermione's face softened and she pulled Ginny back into a bone-crushing hug as the fiery red head sobbed uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry, hun. You deserved her every ounce of respect, but you can't feel guilty over something you had no control over- Muriel was her own person. If she didn't love anybody in this wonderful family, than that was her fault. I know that's kind of harsh to say about a dead woman, but it's the truth. It is."

"I know, 'Mione. I know."

Pulling herself from Hermione's rather comfortable hug, Ginny sniffed and wiped the tears and dripping snot from her nose. She nodded quietly and sobbed slightly again. "You always know what to say, 'Mione. I'm sorry."

Hermione smiled sadly and put her hand on Ginny's shoulder. "Yeah, but I don't think I should be the one saying it, Gin. I think there is someone else you should apologize to. And I just so happen to have the knowledge of where he, his decrepit house elf, and that damnable owl are currently staying."

"Yours and Ron's flat in Blackpool?"

"No. Much, much worse…"

* * *

"…So _kiss me! I'm shit-faced! And I'm soaked, and soiled, and proud!_" Harry sang slurring with Ron and the pair of Irish blokes at the Leaky Cauldron's bar.

_Hey, I might be British, and they may have been Irish, and damn proud of it, but they were damn good drinking buddies. Despite the fact that the bloody wankers drank me and Ron under the table…_

"_In the trousers, so kiss me! And I'll on'y buy ye one round!"_

"Eh, I loov this clatty song! Written by a bunch a' bloody yanks, but I loov' it!" Declan, the muscle head hollered belligerently, with a hearty slap to his knee.

"Aye, laddie, it be brilliant!" O'Donnell, a weedier football fan screamed in agreement.

"It bloody is," Ron mumbled lovingly, looking up at the ceiling in wonder. "Bloody _hell_, the ceiling is painted in swirls!" He exclaimed before falling off his stool backwards and landing on the floor with an audible thump.

_Ah, this must be why I don't remember this story so well; traumatic events plus alcohol makes this Chosen One a dull boy, indeed._

"Yoooo alright dare, Ronniekins?" Harry asked drunkenly.

"Harry, my aunt is dead! My aunt is dead!"

"I bloody well know, because of that witch I'm home-hic- less!"

"But my auntie Muree- Mur-hic- Muribel isss dead! I want my mummy!"

"I want your mummy, too! She'd know how to clean thish mess up! She knows how clean a moving snitch without touching et."

"Now that's a Wan, I say, lads!" Declan laughed. "That's one hell of a woman."

"I'll drink to that," O'Donnell agreed, and the two Irish men clanked their mugs and bottomed them dry as Harry, as if on cue, as if his tank itself ran empty, passed out and fell to the floor on top of Ron.

"Oof, Harry! OOF!"

"Megnanamak."

"Hunhh?"

"He said 'is back is killing 'em."

"How do you know, you Irish scaleeweg?"

"I'm an Irish, you tool! I don't jus' speak drunk, I invented my own dialect of eet!"

"Oh," Ron said, looking far off at the ceiling again. And then he giggled uncontrollably.

"Oi, you drunken swags! My bar ain't a hotel bed, you bloody knobjockeys! Get these pissed boys outta me bar!" Tom the barman bellowed. As Declan and O'Donnell grabbed the two heroes up by the armpits and dragged them out the bar's door and into Diagon Alley, Tom muttered under his breath, "And to think all of Britain loves them fer savin' 'em. Bloody alcoholics."

_I love Tom. So quick to throw us drunk bastards out on the street. Of course, Britain is not known for it's rowdy, Yankee-style American party drinkers, so I guess he had a right to be fuming mad at us…_

"Oi," Declan asked his skinnier companion. "Whatcha think we ought to do with these blokes?"

"Didn't the black haired fella, Harry, have an elf and owl with him?"

"Yah…"

"Well, what was the old dingbat elf's name?"

"Cretin?"

"Nah, that wun't it. Kreacher?"

"Yes maste-"The ugly, gray skinned elf materialized in front of them, and immediately cut himself off as he stared at the four drunk men standing, and leaning, in front of him. "Kreacher thanks the foul, ugly, mudblood Ire's for taking care of the master and his disgusting, dirty mouthed blood traitor mate for Kreacher. Kreacher will take them from here, filthy foreigners."

And with a pop, the three of them vanished.

"Oi, I like that ugly kid."

"Nah," O'Donnell spat with a shake of his head. "He wasn't no kid, ye clatty arse. He was some kinda… flying, pop rock eatin' monkey."

"I like monkeys," Declan grunted with a grin and a nod. "Bunch a' bloody lemurs. Ha ha! We got pissed with a buncha' lemurs! Primates can't hold liquor worth salt."

* * *

Just as soon as Ginny and Hermione were about to apparate, Kreacher appeared with the two drunken idiots at his feet and Artemis' cage in hand. "Kreacher believes that tis prudent that the filthy mudblood and the Master's blood traitor scarlet woman take care of the Master and his git Wheezy."

"Oh, you brought them home, thank you, Kreacher!" Hermione exclaimed exuberantly, looking over Ron worriedly. "Ronald, you know I hate it when you do this!"

"Yeah, thanks, you insulting, git," Ginny cursed the elf under her breath as she tugged Harry up from the floor. "Harry, are you in there?"

"Jeeny, what be you doin' in this bar?" Harry's eyes didn't focus, and were so bloodshot that they seemed like rather macabre Christmas decorations.

"I'm taking Ronald, home, Gin. I'll owl you tomorrow."

"Okay, Hermione. We aren't at a bar, Harry. You're home."

"What? But I dunwanna be at Privet Dwive, the Dursley's hate me when I'm skunk."

" No, you're not at Surrey, Harry, you're at Grimmauld Place, in London. With me, and Kreacher. We'll take care of you."

"Oh, okay..." Harry trailed as Ginny put her boyfriend's arm around her shoulders and dragged him up the stairs to the master bedroom.

"You're deadweight," she panted as they came through the threshold of the room. Plopping him down on the bed, she started undressing him.

"Ginny, I ain't gonna mood this bed tonight, I'm whiskey in the beer-o."

"I'm not coming on to you, you drunken loon, I'm getting you ready for bed."

"Oh, otay."

She sighed as she leaned him back into the bed and tucked him into his side. Pulling out a potion phial from the bedside drawer, she uncorked it and held it to his lips. "Drink this; it will kill your hangover tomorrow morning."

"I can't die tomorrow, I gotta be an Auror for le offus!"

Ginny giggled, despite herself. "It's okay, you don't work in the morning, it's Friday."

"I see," Harry drawled as his eyes bugged out in awe. "Is this a shot?"

"Yeah, Harry, it's a good, hard shot."

"Oh, well one more the road, zhen, Tom!" he exclaimed as he downed the phial. As soon as he did, his face contorted into disgust. "What is this! American piss juice?"

"Yes, Harry, that's all Tom had left- you and Ron drank all the rest of the good stuff."

"We did?"

"Uh huh."

"Ooohhh…"

"Yeah, now it's time to sleep."

"Sleep with me, Ginny, I don't want them, to come back."

"Who, Harry?"

"Them."

"Who's 'them,' Harry?"

"The zombies. Like Fred, and Dumbledore, and Tonks. And the Dead Eaters. They want revenge for me killing them…"

"They-" Ginny stopped herself. She had done it again, just like after the Battle. She had gone and played the foolish, selfish little girl while Harry had been haunted by demons…

"I'm sorry, I'll keep them away, love."

Harry smiled drunkenly, and gripped her hand as she sat on her side of the bed. "I looove yooou. I'm sorry I was a prat."

Ginny smiled and squeezed his hand back, lying at his side. Facing him with a sad smile of her own, she kissed his nose. "No, I'm sorry. I was the prat. I just… never told you about my heart."

Harry giggled stupidly. "That makes no sense…" and that's when he started sobbing. "I'm gonna miss her!"

"Me too, Harry. Me, too," she soothed as she hugged him to her chest. As he quieted, he continued.

"Hedwig was such a great owl; I knew I wasn't the only one who loved her!"

With a slight pang in her heart, she decided that she would tell Harry about how she felt about Muriel and formally apologize in the morning. At least then he wouldn't cry…

Maybe.

_Ginny is, simply insane. But… that's why I love her. _


	4. Chapter 4

Greetings, and welcome to Chapter Four! Achievement Unlocked: Halfway There! If you understand what that means, good for you! If you don't, the get a XBox 360, you'll be more in tune with my inside jokes.

Artemis the owl: explained. That crazy, homicidal, great-horned owl from America that hates everyone and everything(not that you knew that yet) that replaced Hedwig had to have been tamed somehow, and Harry resorts to the old "what do you do with a rude, cursing parrot?" trick. And so, without further keeping you from reading what you really wanna read, ENJOI.

* * *

The great-horned owl hooted, breaking the silence of Harry's study at Number 12, Grimmauld Place. His amber colored eyes bore into his master's head, imploring for his attention. It was nearing twelve in the afternoon, and Artemis needed his midday owl treat. Sure, it tasted more like a human's dirty foot wrapped in bacon, rather than a fresh field mouse, but an owl needs to eat.

Harry was writing like a frenzied snake in an alfalfa field. The scratching of his ridiculously colorful peacock quill was, quite frankly, grating on Artemis' sensitive ears. The owl simply stared at the back of the raven-haired man's head with agitation. He hooted again, louder this time, just as the quill's tip snapped, spraying loose ink all over the page and Harry's shirt.

"Goddammit," Harry cursed at once. That was not his typical choice of words; he usually went on about some Merlin and a beard or pants, whatever _that_ was. Artemis hooted again, in a mournful, pity-me tone. Turning in his chair, Harry regarded the bird with a laugh. "Ah, it's about time for your afternoon snack, hey mate?"

Artemis hooted again in a happier tune and ruffled his wings excitedly that seemed to scream, "Yes, please!" Harry stood up as he waved his fancy cleaning stick across his shirt and journal, muttering something along the lines of "Scourgify." Opening the cage, Harry held his arm out and Artemis gladly jumped on it, being careful not to claw into it to tightly. If it was the Red Gin, he probably would have snapped her finger off again. And yes, he did snap the giggly girl's finger off. He didn't _like_ giggly.

Walking down to the kitchen, where the only other being in the world Artemis liked slaved away at lunch, Harry sat down at the table and pulled out a package of treats. Artemis hopped out onto the table top and silently stared at the Bat-Eared One, who simply stared back blankly from the kitchen before returning to his work. "Okay," Harry sighed as he pulled the package open. Holding the treat up, Artemis quickly snapped at it and swallowed it whole. "Whoa, hungry this afternoon, aren't you?"

Artemis merely hooted in agreement. If he were human, he would have said, "Duh, you British airhead. And while we're at it, why don't you uh, let me go out and you know, _hunt_ some more? So I don't have to constantly rediscover what your grimy feet taste like on a daily basis?"

"Why do I get the feeling you don't like these treats?"

Artemis stared. Then shifting his gaze out of the window, he stopped listening. Harry continued talking, and upon figuring out the owl was ignoring him, prodded Artemis with a finger. Again, the only person who could get away with something so… _bold_.

"Lemme guess. You want to go out and fly? Hunt?"

Artemis hooted excitedly, the loudest and liveliest of his responses.

"Okay. Can you do me a favor?"

"Hoot?"

"Be back by five? That's when the wedding starts and I want one of my best mates there with me."

The owl stared. Harry wanted him, an owl, at his wedding? Was he completely insane? Back in America, there were things called, oh, what was the word…

Institooshunz. That was the word. _Humans_, Artemis thought with all the sapience he could muster, _such complex animals_. _You'd think their heads would explode._

Flying out of the window, Artemis clucked his beak in agitation. He _hated_ flying during the day…

* * *

With a pop, Hermione Granger appeared right in front of Harry as he sat back down at his dining table to await his lunch.

"'Mione! What are you doing here?"

"Molly said you kicked her out because you had to 'write' something. We are not simpletons, Harry, we know you never write unless you absolutely have to. So, what gives?"

"What 'gives?' Hermione, I do not write just for work. I can write for leisure."

"Yeah, and so can Ron," she shot back facetiously. "Tell me what's wrong? Are you sick? Did you forget to get the tuxes and are trying to hide it? Oh, you aren't getting cold feet, are you!?"

"Hermione, shut up! I was writing in my journal!"

"Are you- journal? You write in a journal?" The look of shock crossed Hermione's face blatantly. "Why?"

"My psychiatrist healer from Mungo's said I should."

"Oh. _Oh_," Hermione relented, looking at Harry sheepishly. "I'm sorry, if I had known- I mean, that's strictly confidential- would never have-"

Harry reached out and took Hermione's hand into his own. "It's okay. You didn't know."

She shook her head and sighed. "It's just silly of me to think that you would actually not try to find something to help cope with the war and all."

Harry smiled slowly and laughed. "If you did, would you have thought of me as the 'diary' type?"

Hermione giggled herself before wrapping Harry in a hug. "No. In fact, far from it. After the whole diary business from second year and Ginny almost dying, I would have thought that you would have done anything but. But I guess it makes sense."

Harry nodded as she released him from her embrace and sat at the opposite end of the table. "It helps."

Hermione nodded herself, before both of them lapsed into a comfortable silence. Hermione chewed this new revelation over while Harry tried to figure out what Kreacher and Winky were making for lunch simply from the smell.

Caramelized onions, bacon, and a whiff of roast beef hit his nostrils. Inhaling sharply, he basked in the scents of warm, cooking food with a sense of sharpened delight. Immediately following the war, he had, much to everyone's chagrin, started smoking. The stress relief from dragging of a puff of the toxic smoke made his daily grind passable, and his sleepless nights bearable. Despite having Gin back, his days were left feeling empty still, and the habit filled a large hole in his life, as well as passing a lot of time. The fags had quickly become more than just a part of him, they controlled him. So when Ginny graduated from Hogwarts, she had laid her foot down. At first Harry had been nigh on shell-shocked, but he soon came to find out that less time with cigarettes led to more time in bed. And that was something Harry had held onto. And without his sense of taste and smell deadened by tobacco, he could catch every scent of the juicy roast beef…

"Ugh, is food all you or Ron ever think about?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know what you are sniffing, and it involves the lunch Kreacher and Winky are making."

"Maybe I smelled something else," Harry joked, waving his hand over the table in a fanning motion.

"What are you- oh, Harry! No!"

Harry laughed a little more heartily. "Calm down, 'Mione, I was just joking."

"You seem to be doing that a lot," Hermione said with a sad, nostalgic grin. The immediate change in her attitude threw Harry off guard. "You didn't used to."

"Yeah… it's great not having the pressure to be 'The Chosen One' anymore. Or have a million expectations or a media jabbing me every time I turn around."

Hermione's small, melancholy grin broadened into a full-fledged smile. "I'm glad you're enjoying 'retirement.'"

Before he could retort, Winky came in from the kitchen bearing a try of sandwiches. "Lunch is ready and served, Master Harry, Mistress Granger."

"Thank you," Hermione gushed appreciatively. "I haven't eaten since six this morning, when Ron left. I'm famished!"

"Winky thinks Mistress Granger will enjoy lunch then. Roast beef with caramelized onions and bacon on rye bread, for the kind and great Master Harry and Master's _esteemed_ guest."

Winky had said "esteemed" with great insult. Before Harry had "adopted" Winky, Hermione had revived S.P.E.W., and was trying to make out Winky as her Poster-Elf; she had vehemently declined in her drunken stupor. At her wits end at being free, Winky had attempted many crazy things, some of them possibly suicidal. Hermione, desperate no longer just for political support but for the House Elf's life, brought in Harry, who in turn brought Winky into Grimmauld place, making her his other house elf. She had gratefully accepted and made a dramatic turn-around, though she still held a low regard for Hermione.

"Thank you, Winky. And extend our thanks to Kreacher as well, please."

"Of course, Master Harry," Winky bowed with great candor before shooting a suspicious glare at Hermione. Turning on her heel, she skipped back into the kitchen.

"When will she ever forgive me for trying to do the right thing?"

"In her mind, you were wrong. No logic is going change that."

Hermione shook her head, and then looked like she had forgotten something. "Where's Artemis?" She asked suddenly with a pale face, looking around suspiciously herself, as if expecting the psychotic bird to come in from out of nowhere. "Why isn't he eating lunch with you, off your plate, like usual?"

"I let him out to hunt this afternoon. Figured he'd want the fresh air," Harry answered after swallowing a rather large bite of sandwich. "He left just before you apparated in."

"Oh," the look of relief washed Hermione's face with color, a contrast to the white slate of fear it showed moments before. "Thank Merlin."

"Oh, come on, he isn't that bad."

"Harry, you had to 'do something drastic' just to make him cozy up to you. He bit off Ginny's finger, Ron's ear, and tried to kill Crookshanks. He _is_ that bad."

"I concede, I concede…"

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully. "What exactly did you do? You were rather… hesitant when I asked what you did to calm the barmy bird down."

"Well…"

* * *

_Rule Number Four: She may think animals are cute, but Ginnydoes _not _know how to pick a proper owl._

_It was a week before Muriel died, and she had just gotten back from Hogwarts. _

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, running off the train before it stopped and jumped into his arms. Arnold the pygmy puff, held tightly in her hands, squeaked in protest to the pressure of being stuck between two tightly embraced human bodies.

"Hey, Gin!"

_A week and a half before Christmas, and she had decided that up until the time Christmas dinner rolled around at the Burrow, she was going to spend every waking moment with me._

"I'm not going to leave your side the entire time I'm home," She promised with a wink.

Harry smiled nervously, knowing that he still had work even if she was off school. "Every waking moment?" Harry asked dubiously, very much fearful of all talking she was going to do, all the Christmas stuff she was going to throw his way, and all the time he was going to lose drinking with Ron at the pub.

"Every. Single. Moment!" She clarified happily, giving her bags.

_Okay, yeah, she was acting like an airheaded Yank, typical blonde, girl-next-door, "I fell in love with my celebrity hero" woman. And I should have been looking forward to her trailing my every move, dallying into my every interaction, and even following me into work._

"So this is the Auror's Office!"

_Oh, the jokes Dawlish and Ron and Williamson all cracked on me were so… bad. But deep down inside, I began to cherish it. I never had anybody care enough to dote and coddle on me, so after the first four days, I began to get used to it, even enjoy it. Call me crazy, but I grew to love it. And the "lunch break" we had shook me more than Romilda Vane's obvious attempts to woo this oh-so-Godly chosen one-_

_Harry! I do not want to hear about that!_

_Sorry, I forgot about what you can do with a newspaper! Anyway…._

"Harry, I'm going Christmas shopping!"

"Okay," Harry called down from his study. "I'll be down to join you in a minute!"

"Oh, no, that's okay! I'm going with Luna! I'll be back in time for tea at the latest! Bye!"

_Yeah, I know what it meant; she was shopping for me. But still, after being hung onto for four straight days, I felt a little…_

_Deserted?_

_Yeah. So I spent the rest of that Saturday in my study, reading reports and sipping Firewhiskey-_

_Typical man._

_Who is telling this story, Hermione?_

_Sorry, I won't interrupt anymore…_

_Good. Now, apparently, when she had said "I'm shopping with Luna," she also meant Neville and Dennis Creevey, who both had an interest in plants and animals..._

"Harry has been in such denial over Hedwig. He needs a new animal."

"Sorry, Ginny," Neville shrugged. "I'm a plant kinda bloke; I'm no good with pets."

"What about a Umgubular Slashkilter, it could help keep away-"

"How about a new owl?" Dennis suggested, ignoring Luna and her wild animal theory. "He is an Auror, and he must have so much post to take care of."

"An owl… I was so wrapped up in getting him something to replace his owl, that I forgot that maybe a new owl would be just the perfect thing!" Ginny exclaimed, hugging Dennis and giving him a peck on the cheek, to which he blushed heavily. "You're a genius, Dennis!"

_That night, just before the delicious evening meal that Kreacher and Winky made, she waltzed into the common room with a cage and a great-horned owl. Claiming that a new owl was in order, she thrust the cage and snoozing owl in my lap and hollered "Happy Christmas!"_

_The bird looked docile enough at first. She said that the owl keeper himself trained him, and that he was more than ecstatic to sell him for a bargain price of five galleons. She gladly accepted._

"Wait, Harry. You can't open the cage until you _name_ him," Ginny stated. "Kreacher, could you be a dear and put these groceries away? That turkey is for Christmas, and I don't want it to get spoiled."

"Oh yeah, I forgot Mum wanted me to buy the turkey this year. And why exactly must I name him before I open his cage again?"

"Did you name Hedwig before you opened _her_ cage?"

Stung, Harry glanced at the new owl with a look of sadness. Remembering his faithful old Snow owl with nostalgia, he went mute for a moment before almost whispering "Artemis."

"Artemis? The Greek goddess?"

"It sounds unisex enough," Harry bit back. "Can I open the cage, now?"

Looking a little stung herself, Ginny nodded.

_It turned out that the Owl Keeper was worse than ecstatic; he was desperate._

As soon as the cage door flew open, Artemis went insane. As if a spell had been broken, the peaceful, snoozing bird started hooting madly and flapping his wings, causing Harry to drop the cage from his lap and cover his face. With a crash, the metal bars hit the floor and the owl hit the air, flying around the living room's chandelier in a flurry of brown feathers and high pitched hoots.

Ducking for cover, Ginny ran behind Harry's couch as he covered her with his body, keeping a copious amount of bird excrement from ruining the sweater he bought her for her last birthday. And with a sharp snap of fingers and a distinct thud, the excitement ended. Looking over the back of the couch, Harry saw Winky standing in the doorway, Artemis frozen in mid flap on the floor, and a rather large amount of bird poop slathered over the center cushion.

"Winky thinks," the elf said with authority, "That Master's Wheazy-Girl needs to learn how to pick proper owls."

_She didn't!_

_She did. It was the most authority I have ever seen Winky enforce. I think she was a little peeved because she had just cleaned the living room that morning._

The next day, Harry decided to give Artemis another try. With a packet of owl treats and a letter to his boss, Gawain Robards, he advanced towards the cage slowly and carefully. The owl stared evilly at him as he made his across the common room, tracking his progress with what almost seemed like a calculated gaze. "Hey, mate, you hungry?"

Artemis hooted, as if to say, "Sod off, you ponce."

"Right, well, here is an owl treat," Harry enunciated, being careful to make his every intention sincerely nice, as well as trying to hide his fear. Dropping the brown, compact treat between the bars, Harry smiled hopefully and motioned to it with candor. The owl didn't lower its glare, and hooted again.

"Oh, come on, you must be hungry!"

_Hoot_.

"Okay, so you aren't that hungry. Can you deliver a letter?"

_Yet again, that same, condescending hoot._

"Okay, I'm just going to open your cage, and-"

_A replay of the night before entailed, and after another run of interference, Winky and I had gotten the psychotic bird back in its cage. Needless to say, Winky cleaned the living room for a third time in two days. With a veiled threat that if I didn't get rid of the evil thing, she would return to Hogwarts and never look back, I was at my wits end. That letter needed to be sent in to the boss, and to _hell_ with me delivering it myself!_

_That night, Ginny told me that she was going back to Diagon Alley to get me a new present, one that she could give me at the Burrow with the rest as the family. Hell bent and determined, I brought the wretched owl and his cage into the kitchen, with Kreacher as reinforcement. That letter was _going_ to be delivered._

"You listen here, owl," Harry started in, yelling and pointing his finger. "You think you're the devil incarnate?! I fought that barmy bastard. And I won! I have outwitted dragons, survived under water for more than an hour, infiltrated the Ministry, broke into Gringotts, fought head to head with the deadliest Dark Wizards in a century and became the youngest Tri-Wizard champion ever, all before I was considered an adult! You hear?! I. Am not. Scared. OF. YOU!"

Hoot.

"Goddammit, bird, I'll kill you!"

Hoot.

"Gah! Deliver this letter!" Harry screamed as he ripped the cage door open. The bird, not surprisingly, began to go insane, but this time with Harry struggling amidst the hurricane of feather's and ripped out hair to attach the letter to his leg. Finally, after realizing he was losing the battle, Harry made a last ditch effort. "Kreacher, NOW!"

Kreacher momentarily stunned the wild beast, and Harry quickly flung the bird into his freezer, nowhere near the cage to toss the bird back into it in time. The large appliance, attached to the top of the fridge, shook as if it were possessed. Falling to the floor and trying to catch his breath, Harry punched the metallic door and screamed, "Let's see how you like that, ye dozy vagrant!"

Harry sat there for five minutes pondering what he had just done, and how much Hermione would have tortured him before giving him a slow, painful death if she had seen what just happened. As soon as the thought hit his mind, however, the fridge stopped shaking and Harry shuttered with a moment of fear. Had he just frozen his owl to death?

Flinging the door open, he stared in shock as a perfectly well-mannered, stoic owl hopped out of the freezer and onto his outstretched arm, holding his left claw out for Harry to attach the letter.

"What got into you?"

The owl tilted its blank stare at the frozen turkey, and back to Harry. With a questioning hoot, Artemis seemed to ask, "_What did you do to _that _poor mate_?"

* * *

Oh, he doesn't want to end up like a turkey! Forced slavery, I tell you! FORCED!!! BLACKMAIL!!! Or... wait, is it just Blackpool? And now I must leave amidst my confusion...

Deadpool! Blackmail and Deadpool! Duh!!!


	5. Chapter 5

Hello, hello, hello! Thank you for returning! A little shorter, a little more serious at the start, but damn I had myself laughing at the end!

Disclaimer: Ownership of all in this story belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm but a dreaming hopeful

* * *

Harry pulled a light jacket over his shoulders and gave the two elves the rest of the afternoon off. Setting up the last of the wards around the house, Harry walked out the front door and stalked out behind the alley way to the apparition point. With his jacket in one hand and his journal and pen in the other, he disappeared with a crack.

Reappearing in Hogsmeade, he quickly pulled a hood up and walked down the expanded village's streets. For the second time that day, he marveled at the rebuilt town and its new luster. Children played in the streets, dogs walked happily alongside their owners, shopkeepers talked jovially with their customers. The smell of restaurants freshly made cuisine called to the pedestrians as the taste of spring air wafted around them. Clean, happy little buildings capped off the atmosphere of your typical friendly village. Harry, however, felt less content and more restless. He was the only person on the street who was wearing a hood, and black. A few people glanced at him sideways, but no one recognized him as the Chosen One, just how he liked it.

Walking out of the gates to the village, he made his way up the hill toward the grounds where the Shrieking Shack used to reside. It was torn down to make room for the Memorial Graveyard, the final resting place of all who died attacking and defending Hogwarts. Death Eaters and students alike earned their place six feet under the sanctified ground, and that was where Harry was trudging to.

The wrought-iron gates had a poetic wording written in loopy writing, but Harry neglected to read it. He couldn't stand the site's explanation as to why Death Eaters were buried next to his friends and family, nor did he _want _to stand for it.

Row upon row of white marble crosses stood at mute attention in the warm, golden sunshine. Their polished and protected veneers almost glittered and shone, but that was the liveliest the burial ground got. The green grass was thick and full, and many of the gravestones had flowers placed in front of them, but their scents didn't waft in the air. Despite the fact that they were fresh and alive, Harry could not smell the roses and lilies and Goldenrods and all the other flowered bouquets. This _was_ a place for the dead, after all.

Finding the crosses with the names he was looking for, Harry pulled his hood off and plopped down between them. Holding a knee up and resting his elbow on it, he sighed.

"How goes it, Remus? Tonks?" He asked, not expecting an answer. "Today is the big day. Oh, I haven't been back since before I proposed to Gin, have I? Yeah, today I am getting married. And before you ask, Tonks, yes, it's going to a big, white, perfect wedding, just like you would know Ginny would want. I just wish the both of you could be there, instead of having me tell you…"

The two crosses stood silent, and unmoving. As if Harry had _expected _them to move, right?

"Teddy is doing great. He asks about you two all the time, y'know? He is finally learning how to talk and walk and already he wants to just up and see the world. He wishes he could know you two, but I don't think me and Andy are ready to have him… _meet_ you yet. We can barely stand having him ask about you all the bloody time," Harry half laughed, half choked on a dry sob. "He has already gotten lost in Diagon Alley three whole times because he changes his appearance so bloody much!

"I'm rambling, again. It's pathetic how I do that every single time I come here, isn't it?"

"No its not," a feminine, dreamy voice sounded.

Harry stared at the gravestone for a whole moment in horror before he realized that the voice came from behind him. Turning, he saw Luna Lovegood with jumbles of oddly-assorted flowers folded in her arms. She smiled at him with that blank grin only she could pull off and make anybody wonder why she wasn't in a loony bin.

"I find that talking to my mother's gravestone is very helpful for finding closure. You know? Only, I haven't done it in seven years… maybe I shall do that tomorrow. Yes, I think I shall. Would you like to join me?"

Harry laughed at her hopeful question. "Sorry, Luna, but Gin and I are going to be in Hawaii by tomorrow afternoon."

"Ah, forgive me; I forgot that you two would be leaving for your honeymoon."

"It's okay, Loony," Harry assuaged. He patted the ground next to Tonks, and shifted so that she could sit down next to him. She happily obliged, crossing her legs underneath her and pointing at his diary.

"What's that?"

"My journal. My shrink suggested it to help organize my thoughts and feelings about the war."

"Has it?"

"Y'know, at first I thought it was a load of rubbish. But now that I actually look back on it, it has, to an extent."

"'To an extent?'"

"Well, it hasn't helped, but yet… it hasn't not. It's…"

"Helping you cope with the loss."

"Exactly! There is no getting over the loss, but I can accept it as it is, and move on. That was something she said at our first appointment, but I didn't understand it. Nor did I want to. But now I can see it all so much more…"

"Clearly?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's exactly right."

Harry loved Loony. He could just… talk to her. She was the perfect friend, and always knew what he was thinking. Some would say that he had the hots for her, but that wasn't the case. She was just a really, really good friend.

"So, what are you doing here? I never saw you here before, at least not since the funerals."

"Oh, I come by at least once every other week to place my father's homemade bouquets on the graves. They keep away nargles."

Harry smiled a tight, forced smile and nodded slowly, wondering why he even asked when he should have known the answer. Luna laughed quietly at his expression.

"I'm only kidding. I gave up on my father's wild dreams long ago, nargles not the least. No, I'm a volunteer for the War Memorial Department. The look on your face was priceless, though."

Harry chuckled at the little prank she had pulled on him. She placed her head on his shoulder and hugged him. "I know you, Harry. Better than you know. You might think you are a bad person, and that you are the cause of many people's deaths, but it's not your fault," Luna whispered. Harry opened his mouth to rebuff her claim, but she cut him off before he could speak. "You are a wonderful person, and the fact that you _do_ feel guilt over their deaths means you are just that much more of an amazing and kind soul."

Harry mulled her words over in his brain, before smiling that familiar, sad smile. "Thanks, Loony."

"No, thank _you_, Harry. For being my best friend despite the fact that I was full of such bullocks," Luna wrapped him in a hug and kissed his temple. "I think I'll leave you to write in your diary."

"I don't really having anything to write in it right now. I think I'll just talk to Remus and Tonks some more."

"Oh, okay. I'm going to keep laying down flowers. Where is the reception going to take place? The Burrow?"

"Nah, Gin wanted it in a little more… _racy _locale. We're going to the Broke Bludger."

"Oh! I like that place, it has so many of those flickering muggle light-things…"

"Strobe lights?"

"Yes, that's the word!" Luna exclaimed happily, grinning broadly. "Strobe lights!" She giggled and clapped her hands together like a five year old at Christmas. "Strobe lights!"

She left Harry at his spot between Tonks and Remus. He had felt anything but happy when he arrived, but who knew that talking to one woman could make you wear the biggest smile?

"Remind me to name one of my kids after her, Remus. And don't forget to this time, either."

* * *

Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place in time to meet Artemis on the front steps, nuzzling his feathers. "Hey, buddy," he greeted as he petted the owl's feathers lightly before unlocking the wards. "Let's go in, shall we?"

He stepped inside and looked up at the spot where Walburga Black's painting used to reside. Now it was a wide open space, no wall, no foundation, just a wide open hall straight to the kitchen. Harry smiled at the memory of he, Ginny, and Neville taking hammers and axes to the wall and tearing it down, portrait and all. The batty old harlot went down screaming and cursing, and the three of them burned that painting in an almost reverent memorial service; she was burned on the same day that Sirius was killed.

Harry let Artemis roam free and trooped back to his study. He tossed the diary unceremoniously onto his desk and sat his chair, leaning back. He wondered idly what he should pen down as his next "rule," and flicked his wand to summon a glass of steaming Firewhiskey.

"Firewhiskey," he muttered in revelation. "The Broke Bludger…"

* * *

_Rule Number Five: Never Let Ginevra Weasley Drink Copious Amounts of Alcohol._

_It was the day she and Hermione graduated from Hogwarts when Ron suggested he hit one of the new Wizarding Clubs to celebrate after the "real" celebration at the Burrow. Ludo Bagman had settled his debt and come back to Britain by then, and had opened a Quidditch themed party-club as a means of holding on to a honorable and practical means of work. The end result was the Broke Bludger, a gag on his days of running from goblins, broke as a joke. Uh… no puns intended, if I had one there. Don't mind me dear diary, I'm not good with those!_

"Bloody hell, mates," Ron burst once Molly and Arthur were tucked in bed. "We need to celebrate!"

_If only Ron had kept his bloody mouth shut._

"I know!" Ginny agreed. "Ludo Bagman's new place!"

_Curse Quidditch players and their way of gravitating to one another._

"The Broke Bludger?" Hermione asked. "I heard it was a little…"

_Racy. Yeah, you heard me. _Racy_. The damnable place practically begs women to turn Scarlet and all but forces men to want to ride the stripper poles. Not that I _actually_ jumped on one, of course…_

"Spin, Hurry, spin!" Ginny urged in a half-drunken slur as her boyfriend jumped and wrapped his legs around the slim, steel pole. With his legs tightly grasping the pole, he leaned his torso down so that he could properly snog her upside down. Many of the other patrons catcalled and wolf whistled their agreement, while Seamus Finnegan roared something along the lines of "Go, Harry, go!"

_I don't know why I bother trying to lie to a ruddy journal…_

The strobe lights and flashing disco ball made the dance floor a must-be place while Ludo decorated the table areas and the bar with an American sports bar-styled flavor. To go along with the "Muggle Revolution" going on in the rest of Wizarding Britain, he placed twelve strategically placed flat screen televisions around, all of them broadcasting muggle sports like Rugby and football and Lee Jordan's own Quidditch television show on the WQN, or Wizarding Quidditch Network. The smell of sweat and stale alcohol meandered on the floor as almost a hundred inebriated people gyrated to some Weird Sisters tune, some on the elevated poles while others danced on the smooth wooden floor. Some people even got close to moshing, pushing and jumping around like crazed, barbaric madmen.

_That was the fun part of the night. We all just let go, relaxed, and got just slightly wild. Wild enough to feel good. Wild enough to have fun. But when Ron bought the next five rounds of Firewhiskey, Ginny got pushed over the edge._

"Woo!" she screamed as she drunkenly jumped onto the pole platform. She ripped off her pure silk blouse _(may I add that it was one I had bought for her, and it cost over thirty galleons!?)_ and proceeded to show off her thankfully bra-clad chest to the entire dance floor. About thirty male jaws hit the floor, and I had no problem making my thoughts about their staring known as I all but dragged Ginny out of the club, throwing my jacket over her shoulders as we went.

"But Hurrrrry, we were having so much fuuun!" Ginny giggled as they walked out the front door and out onto the streets of Hogsmeade. It was around midnight, so none of the more sensible folk who found "showing skin," as an affront were out or about. Ginny wrapped the leather jacket with the silk interior around herself and started to shake around.

"It feels so good!" she giggled. "It makes my skin feel so nice!"

"Yeah, I'm sure it does," Harry grunted.

"Where are we going?" Ginny asked, looking innocently sloshed.

"Home," Harry growled.

"Ooohhh…" Ginny again giggled, winking. "My place, or yours?"

"Mine."

"Yay!" Ginny cheered, jumping and clapping. "I can scream!"

Harry's face, already red from booze, almost looked like his uncle's. "W-_what_?"

"Are you not gonna-"

"Do not finish that sentence."

"Okay…" she trailed off, looking mockingly hurt. "You mean you don't wanna-"

"I'm not taking advantage of you like this, Ron'd kill me, not least the rest the rest of your brothers."

"Screw them!" Ginny screamed suddenly. "I'm so sick and tired of Ron and Mum trying to run my life! 'Ginny, don't this! Don't do that, Ginevra!'" She wined in a high, mocking voice. "I'm seventeen, and an adult! I'll do what I want, when I want. And right now all I wanna _do_ is _you_!"

_Well, how could I, or any sensible man, say "no" to that?_


	6. Chapter 6

After a few months hiatus(sorry, guys!) This story is back with the second to last chapter! I heed of warning; this chapter, near the end, is where the story gets really AU. I've taken liberties with what life after the war was like, but now I'm actually changing a small part of Harry and Ginny's whole story- Where she played quidditch at.

En-En-Joi!

* * *

Harry leaned back in his chair and sighed, looking at his watch. Three o'clock. The wedding was due to get underway in little more than two hours, and he had yet to get ready.

Harry sat stood and went to his bedroom. The room was Sirius' when he had been alive. The days spent cleaning the house up during the war and the remodeling done to the house afterwards had turned it from a bleak and dark place into an extravagant, but yet remarkably humble and relaxing atmosphere. Dark cream plaster had covered the formerly dank walls and wooden trim had capped it off with a modern, soothing air. Thick scarlet carpet was soft under Harry's feet as he rolled his walk-in closet open. Ginny had laid out potpourri in the room and the closet, making the space smell of vanilla and wild flowers. It reminded Harry faintly of the smell of her hair, and he often wondered if Ginny had used them on purpose. He began tugging on his dress robes when a picture by his bedside table caught his eye.

It was Ginny and Gwenog Jones, before the Captain and Beater had retired. They had their arms around each other, smiling up at Harry, and making peace signs at him. Ginny's hair was pulled back in an old-looking ponytail, while Gwenog's was blown out into a wild and bushy afro, in commemoration for some Wizarding holiday. Harry was irrevocably reminded of an old Woodstock documentary, and laughed at the thought of how Ginny would react if she went to a muggle rock concert. Awe? Shock? Amazement? Or would she hate it?

Harry shook his head and laughed again. He was about to get married, and here he was thinking about taking her to some AC/DC concert. Shouldn't he be nervous? Or anxious? Shouldn't he be at least partially distressed, somehow?

Yet when he thought back on it, it didn't seem like something he should worry about. Getting married to Ginny was not a step in the future, nor was it a voyage into the unknown. After the five years of loving her, they had gone through this much to get where they were, and had acted like they were married already every time. Every fight, every problem, every squabble, every decision, and every time they made love; these were all done mutually, and had been handled together.

No, this wasn't at all something to worry about. It was something to rejoice. After long last, they were cementing something that was already there, from the groundwork to the foundation. Now they were just nailing in the walls, stapling down the carpet, and moving in the furniture. Just like what they had done to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, they were now doing to their very lives.

And to think, that of all people, it all started with Gwenog Jones.

_Rule Number 6: Quidditch is not a sport, nor a game; it's a way of life._

_Almost as soon as Ginny graduated from Hogwarts, the Holyhead Harpies began their new team tryouts. Quidditch being Ginny's dream, and the Harpies being her all-time favorite team, it was only natural that she went out for them together. After almost two months of grueling training camps, two-a-day practices, and team cuts, she more than barely made the cut for the Harpies' reserve team._

Ginny walked in the front door of Number 12 with a blank look on her face. Harry was waiting for her in the foyer, anxiously impatient to hear if whether she had made the team or not. His heart broke to see tears roll down her emotionless face. Thinking the worst, he wrapped her in a tight hug and kissed away her tears, fully expecting to have to pay a very large bar tab tonight to help her "forget" the Holyhead Harpies and their stupid coaches. Couldn't they see that she was the perfect Chaser? They didn't know what they were missing.

"Gin, I'm so sorry."

The reaction that Ginny had to those words surprised Harry, to say the least. She giggled softly against his shirt, her nose rubbing in between his arm and chest. Then the giggle turned into a chuckle, then a full blown laugh, before spiraling into a hysterical fit of maniacal laughter. Harry could barely make out the words she was screaming between her great sobs of mirth.

"I showed those witches what's up! Gwenog Jones herself said she's never seen such talent in '_someone so young!_' As of two-thirty this afternoon, you're looking at the number one reserve Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, baby! _Yeah_!"

Ginny started dancing in a wildly goofy circle around a shocked Harry, pumping her arms and snapping her fingers, her thumbs pointing at her chest. Harry's eyes widened as Ginny let out a high pitched "_Uh uh uh uh owa owa_!" with every revolution she made around him.

Finally, Harry seemed to snap out of his reverie and smiled like a lunatic, as well. "You did it!" he cheered as he picked Ginny up by the waist. Twirling her around, he never even saw the troll leg umbrella stand go flying as her feet hit it, nor did he notice Kreacher and Winky standing at the threshold to the kitchen, expressions of bewilderment on their exaggerated elfish features.

"Floo Ron and tell him to get his drinking shirt one! And while you're at it, do the same! Tonight, the pub tab is on you!"

"Yeah-! Wait, _me_?"

_She had made the team. The entire Weasley-Potter clan could breathe a sigh of relief. Finally, they had something they could actually hold on to. Ever since Fred's death, things could finally be happy again. Fred's passing had left a cloud over the Burrow, and the usual high-strung excitement that filled the Weasley homestead had been left the place muted. Nine times out of ten, you could hear a pin drop on the busiest of days. No one had dared speak too loud, as if doing so would dishonor the fallen son, brother, and friend. Or worse, disturb his non-existent ghost._

_But when Ginny burst out of the fireplace and into the Burrow common room, covered in floo dust and hung over from a night's worth of celebration, screaming that she made the team, it was like someone had flicked a light switch. Molly was up and about, crooning over Ginny's success. Arthur had the biggest smile on his since before the war. Ron was beaming with pride, ignorant of even his own grogginess. _

_When the midpoint of the Quidditch season hit its mark, to the day, Ginny had gotten even better news._

"Marla Tudor is pregnant."

They were at lunch. It was a blissful spring day, and the eve of the British Professional Quidditch League's mid-season mark was at hand. Ginny had just gotten out of an early morning practice, and had invited Harry to lunch, as his un-official Auror training had given him lunch around the time she did. The entire time had been filled with idle small talk until that point, and Ginny's sudden blurt had made him choke on his pumpkin juice, mid gulp.

"You mean the third string Chaser of the Holyhead Harpies, Marla Tudor?"

Ginny nodded. "Yes."

"The team leader in points, not to say of the _league_, Marla Tudor?"

Another nod. "Yep."

"So that means…"

"She is taking maternity leave for the rest of the season, and has to forfeit her eligibility for the British National team," Ginny informed. "I'm going to start for her for the rest of the season."

Harry stared at Ginny for the longest time over the brim of his half-raised cup. Ginny was going to start every game for the rest of the season. She would be in the running for rookie of the year, because the deadline for applicable first-timers ended at the three-quarter mark of the season. And she would win the prestigious award, because the top rookie during the entire year had been Roland Harper, the Slytherin reserve seeker from Harry's sixth year. The "Idiot," as Ginny so colorfully labeled him, had lost more games than he had won for the Falmouth Falcons, and rumor had it that they were shopping him around for a trade.

Ginny would be a shoe-in.

"That's brilliant!" Harry exclaimed, earning odd looks from the other patrons of the outdoor café.

"Shh!" Ginny hissed violently, but it appeared that nothing could keep the bubbly smile off of her face. "Gwenog and the Harpies' staff wants to keep it quiet for a while, at least until Marla's leave papers are filed. But I'm going to actually play, instead of watching the games from a skybox!"

"You won't have to worry about fighting with the other reserves for the best seats, either!"

"I won't have to take notes!"

"You won't have to eat any more of the cheap shellfish they serve!"

"I get a pay raise!"

"You get to buy your own Firewhiskey!"

"Uh…" Ginny's face lost its excited gleam. "No, I think you still get to pay for that."

"You get to- Wait, _what_?"

_I remember her first game so clearly. Holyhead Harpies versus Appleby Arrows; the game of the year. The Harpies had been doing good all year long, mostly because of Marla Tudor's emergence as an offensive playmaker, and also because of Gwenog Jones' consistent, score-stopping defense. _

_The Appleby Arrows, on the other hand, had the most defensively powered team in the league, and arguably the world. Duncan Inglebee and Jason Samuels, the two Ravenclaw Beaters from when I was in Hogwarts, had both been signed by the Arrows as soon as they graduated, and had developed into the greatest Beater tandem of the league. They made Fred and George's synchronous play look wild and erratic in comparison. Miles Bletchley, the old Slytherin Keeper, was one of the best score-holders in the league, second to none but Oliver Wood. He had let in, on average, only thirty points a game. That's three scores. A GAME._

_It was only natural for Gin to be nervous. She was short, skinny, light, and had little strength when compared to the bulging hulks of the Arrow's keeper and Chasers, and the brainy intelligence of Inglebee and Samuels made her look blind and stupid. Hell, they made the entire Harpy team look what they sexually were; a bunch of girls._

_Ginny threw up three times that day, all before the match. The first time was in the morning, when I woke her up and reminded her that it was her "big day." The second time was when I floo'ed with her to the pitch, and as we came out of the flames, Bletchley and his team was coming out as well. As soon as she caught sight of them, she immediately ran to the nearest rubbish bin and emptied her stomach of her small, nervously eaten breakfast. She admitted, after the game, that she vomited the third time in the game tunnel, just as Gwenog Jones led them out onto the pitch. Selena Bradley, the Seeker at that time, had grabbed her by the shoulders and forced Ginny out of the tunnel at a trot._

_I never saw her nerves after she left for the locker room, though. Once she and the team jogged out onto the field, they had all lost signs of anxiety and instead wore looks of determination. They were almost completely ignorant of the sea of emerald with dots of silver and cobalt mixed spontaneously. I, however, did._

_The only men who were true fans of the Harpies were the blokes whose girlfriends, wives, daughters, nieces or best friends were on the team. In fact, it was considered effeminate to wear Harpies colors. I get nagged by the guys at the Auror's office relentlessly about it, but I'm adamant. Ginny's my girl, and the Harpies are _our_ team. _

_Merlin, I love saying "Our."_

"What's that? Keller sees the Snitch!" Lee Jordan cried from the commentary box. "Bradley is clear after him!"

_I, along with the rest of the Weasley's, watched in terror as the Arrow's Seeker dived after the Golden Snitch. Selena Bradley was lagging just a little too much, and gave up her lead on the tiny ball. A collective gasp blew the air out of the pitch. The harpies had come too far, battled too hard, and bled too much to lose the lead and the game on one play._

Bradley was well over twenty feet away from Keller, which up in the air may as well have been a hundred miles away. Harry watched in fascinated dejection as the man named Keller flew circles around the pitch in an effort to catch the Snitch, Selena haphazardly trying to keep up. It was clear that the woman's shoulder was dislocated; Inglebee's bludger strike from the beginning of the game had slammed into her back with the force of a raging bull.

Keller did a tight loop-dee-loop and dived after the Snitch as it flitted around the Harpy's goal post.

Selena, predicting that the ball would fly up, shot towards the sky. She grasped her Firebolt single-handedly as her left arm dangled. Harry knew it must have been painful just to fly, but to maneuver in a professional Quidditch game showed just how tough she was. He felt a surge of appreciation to the woman as she hovered over the three hoops.

Selena's foresight proved correct. The Golden Snitch took to the open air above the pitch, only with Selena in the lead this time. Keller rose after her, but was promptly dethroned from his broom from a Bludger that came out of nowhere. Gwenog Jones snapped of a roguish, smart-alecky salute as she turned her attention skyward, watching her Seeker ascend after the game breaking ball.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Ginny snatched the Quaffle away from Arrow's lead Chaser and hurtled toward Bletchley. Twirling the red ball between her deft hands, she threw an accurate, curving ball towards the middle hoop. Falling for the fake, Bletchley guarded the middle. At the last second however, Harry watched as the beautifully shot Quaffle swerved to the right and sailed through the hoop.

A sudden roar filled the stadium. Selena caught the Snitch. Ginny scored a last second goal. Gwenog saved the game. Three thousand women stood up from their seats and cheered, an exponentially less number of men joining them.

And Harry James Potter cheered the loudest and hardest.

_Within three days I wasn't cheering at all. The daily grind of Quidditch practice had come full circle for the Harpy's newest starting Chaser, and it was not suiting her. Some days she'd come home and even eat supper before passing out. And then some days she'd come home crying her eyes out, while I and Kreacher and Winky kept the ice packs cold and on her limbs to alleviate her soreness. _

_Nicks, cuts, bruises aches, pains, and broken bones wouldn't stop my Firefly from living her dream, Merlin forbid. Every morning after she'd pop back up and be out the Floo by five o'clock to learn plays with Gwenog Jones. _

_Let's just say she ate a LOT of bananas._

"Harry, you need to buy more bananas!" Ginny screamed as she disappeared into the green flames.

_Yeah, I felt used, neglected, and abandoned. The season had two months left to go and I was lonely. We slept in the same bed, but she was always too tired to do the… erm…_

"Hey, Gin," Harry all but purred, running his hands down Ginny's hips and thighs.

She slapped his hands away and shifted around in the bed. "Not tonight, Harry. I'm tired and need to be…"

_She fell asleep before she finished half her damn sentences!_

_But by the end of the season, it was all worth it. Ginny, as I predicted, earned Rookie of the Year honors, even if the Harpies lost in the first round of the play-offs. And you know as it was over…_

"Hey, hero," Ginny purred as she walked out of the locker room,wearing only a tank top and shorts. "Ready for some post game celebrations?"

"But Gin, you lost- _oh_," Harry smiled as he realized what she meant. He grabbed her hand and all but dragged her to the Floo. "Let's go home."

…

The start of the new season was a time of new hopes, dreams, and aspirations for the championship, and, of course, when the new rules voted upon during the off-season went in to effect. All the players, players' families, team assistants, and doctors were assembled in a large open room at the Harpies' training facility. Including Harry, by the off chance that Auror training was called off that day due to an instructor's missing foot.

"As you all know," Gwenog Jones stated from the head of the staff room, "ownership has been going over the situations that compromised our chances from last year. And they have ruled on only one new rule, and dare I say it, none of you, or your, erm… _mates_ are going to like it."

_I knew what she was going to say before it came out of her mouth, but it still surprised and outraged me when it did, regardless._

"They have decreed that any player of the Holyhead Harpies must be abstinent during the last month of the preseason, throughout training camp, and the entirety of the playing season to prevent any-"

"Unwanted pregnancies?" a blonde, Irish beater spoke up, her shrill voice dark.

"Yeah, what gives them the right to tell us when we can and can't do something that is private and between two people?" Another asked angrily.

A flourish of angry voices spread like wildfire. Ginny and her teammates pushed into a circle around Gwenog, like an angry mob. Never ending questions came out all at once, overlapping one another. Jones herself looked flustered, and her dark skin flushed with anger as she pushed her teammates away and screamed.

"All of you stop! This is nonsense! I know, I'd rather share my own bed with my husband after a game as anybody would, but you're killing the messenger here!"

"Why can't the team doctors prescribe birth control potions!" The Irish Beater roared.

"Yeah!" A cacophony of voices ensued, in agreement.

"Because," Gwenog sighed. " Birth control is only ninety-nine percent effective. They are paranoid about one percent, yes. Don't ask me why. Anyone who has a problem with this new rule-"

Half the players angled towards the door.

"Are free to pick up the guaranteed pay from their contracts and be cut from the roster."

_Those seven players, starters and practice squad alike, walked out the front door of the conference room, their family members, boyfriends, and husbands alike following them. Ginny was at the head of the pack, me right behind her._

_Rule Number Seven 7: Work NEVER comes before family- no exceptions._

By the time we got home, Ginny was cursing up and down as she tore clothes from her body. We had deposited her galleons from her now defunct contract at Gringotts just minutes before, and she had been quietly vehement the entire time before we walked in the front door. I followed her example, barely paying attention to her terrible language and more on the pale, smooth skin of her back.

"How dare they!" she roared as Harry helped her out of her silky, rust-colored robes. "To bar their players from making love, the very idea sickens me! What gives them the right to do something like that! They wouldn't treat men like that!"

"I wouldn't treat women like that," Harry muttered as he nibbled on her neck, walking with her into the living room.

"I know you wouldn't," Ginny muttered, ripping his shirt off without any consideration to the buttons. "If you did, you'd be eating bat guano for the rest of your short-lived life."

"That's right," Harry agreed, pulling at his belt.

Ginny stopped and looked at her boyfriend with an incredulous look.

"What?" Harry asked, feeling ridiclous wearing nothing but boxers and a puzzled expression.

"When did I get you trained so well?"

"It wasn't hard to up on after you dragged me into your bed..."

Ginny threw her head back and laughed. She laughed hard as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her nose into his neck, giving him a quick lick. "You're such a naughty bloke. Go to my room."

_

* * *

_

_For the next two seasons, the ladies who quit the Harpies were hard pressed to find new teams. Many weren't used to the style of play some teams employed, and others just didn't make the cut. Ginny herself had walk-on tryouts for the Appelby Arrows Ballycastle Bats, and even the Falmouth Falcons. Things like height, weight, arm strength and even the way she flew were the excuses the teams used to not sign her. Finally, with no where else to go, Ginny sucked up her pride, stole one of Ron's many orange and black Cannon's robes, and made a trip to the small village of Chudleigh._

_Out of sheer desperation for quality players, the Cannons signed her to a three year contract and named her as a starting Chaser._

_Her next two seasons as a Cannon were personally great, but the team still stunk. Ron was thrilled, and always attended every game he could, though. Win or lose, he always was and always will be a Chudley Cannons fan. Even when Ginny retired early, he still kept her jersey robes on his and Hermione's bedroom wall. Two seasons, and she was done. When I asked why she had decided on it, she said that after she left the Harpies, she just didn't feel the thrill in playing Quidditch as he had used too. So when I told her she should go back to Holyhead, she laughed, kissed me on the lips with a quick, soft lock, and said "Hell no."_

"Why?"

"A great job is great, but it should never get come before family. Ever."


End file.
